Letting Go
by havishanta
Summary: Myra Lavellan is not a stranger to sorrow, but with the help of her elder, Solas, and her Commander, Cullen, she might be able to overcome it. SolasxF!LavellanxCullen
1. Chapter 1

PART ONE

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

 _Elven Translations:_

 _Da'len – child_

 _Shem – short for "shem'lem", racial slur against human, literally "quick people"_

* * *

"What a dreary day," a familiar voice said.

"Keeper." Myra did not cast her hazel gaze from her view of the forest, her lithe body leaning against a gnarled and scarred tree. The foliage overhead spared her from the bulk of the storm brewing overhead, but some dripped, cold, onto the tight black bun of hair, down her neck, on her nose... She sniffled, wiping at it furiously, fighting her body's instinct to shiver.

"Such a cold front you put up." Keeper Deshanna said. "Almost as cold as the storm."

"It's from the north," Myra said, her back still turned to her elder.

Moments passed. Long moments. The forest was stiller than usual; the fauna had sought refuge that morning, surely sensing the storm's arrival. The Keeper had called back all the hunters when she'd seen the clouds and ordered the clan to take refuge in the caves nearby. Myra imagined they were all inside, setting up camp to last until the storm's passing. Fires surely crackled within, creating warmth and light to combat the harshness outside. As she closed her eyes, she could see the elders painting the cave walls as the children sat and listened to the stories of their clan. Myra knew them all by heart. She imagined the merchants organizing their wares, the shepherds attending their halla, the herbalists preserving the most recent assortment of elfroot, spindleweed, and the like...Every one of the clansmen was probably warm and comfortable inside the cave.

Everyone except her.

"Much has happened." The Keeper finally said.

"Yes." Myra's lip trembled. She didn't know how much longer she could keep up this wall. She felt it crumbling already. It was then she realized she was cold, wet, miserable…

"Why him? Why did it have to be him?"

"I do not know, da'len. All the wisdom of the world still leaves the Creators a mystery. We must only remember our role and hope life's hardships are for a greater purpose."

"What purpose is there in death? What purpose is there in cold-blooded _murder_? These shem, they kill without reason. They destroy everything they touch, including the land they live on. We live in harmony with the land, enjoy its bounty while giving back in gratitude. These shem take and give nothing in return but more heartache."

"Death brings us to the Beyond; that is its purpose. Come, da'len, let us not stand in the cold. Trewyn would not have wanted you to fall ill."

Myra nodded sadly and held her Keeper's hand as they returned to the camp. As soon they returned, the clan's children surrounded them. "Myra, Myra, Myra!" they shouted. A few reached up their hands to be held, but Myra shook her head. "Not now, little ones. I do not wish you for you to catch cold."

"Myra, will you tell us a story?"

"A story? But the elders know all the tales."

"But they don't tell them like you do!"

"Story, story!" The children cried.

"Alright, but let me speak with the Keeper, first. Gather round the fire while you wait."

The children cheered and ran for the fire, pushing and shoving each other for the best seat. Myra grabbed the Keeper by the shoulder as she discussed stocks with the herbalists. Only as First to the Keeper did she have the honor to capture her attention so casually. "Keeper, I must tell you something."

"You are with child." The Keeper answered rather matter-of-fact. "I know, da'len. Half of the clan knows. You have the glow." The Keeper frowned. "It was Trewyn's, wasn't it?"

Myra's lip trembled as two lone tears escaped her eyes.

"All will be well, da'len. We must trust that the Creators have a plan for us. Now, go to the children. They await you."

Myra nodded, but as she walked to the children, she shook her head and murmured, "I don't know if I believe in the Creators anymore."

* * *

The sun had set long ago and most of the clan was asleep. Myra was one of the few still lying wide awake in her cot. She tossed and turned under her fur blankets for hours before finally reaching a conclusion: however exhausted she may be, her body was restless.

She sat up in bed. Moonlight filtered through the treetops above, making it only a small chore to clothe herself and grab her staff. She wrapped a ring velvet cloak around her shivering form and began to head deeper into the forest. The clansmen keeping watch gave her little trouble. She was First to the Keeper, after all. They let her pass with ease.

As soon as she reached the outskirts of her clan's camp, she pulled her hood up. The night seemed only to be getting colder and the overhead thicker with leaves as she ventured deeper and deeper into the forest. It was too dark for her to see, but her feet knew the path well enough, as she had traveled it a hundred times over the past two months. Most of those trips had been at night, for she found she could not sleep with that familiar presence absent from her side. "Trewyn…" She murmured.

The owls "hoo"ed in response, as they often did when she walked these paths alone. They made her feel less lonely, like perhaps Trewyn's spirit continued to live on in the forest, speaking through the owls and the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees. The Dalish liked to speak of the Beyond like it was some far off place, but with how easily the Creators once traveled between the Beyond and the physical world…with how easily mages slipped into the Fade in dreams, who was to say that the Beyond didn't coexist within our own world, unseen by the naked eye, but felt when the wind gave a lover's sigh, or the owls called as though they spoke her name.

She made it to the burial grounds, navigating the graves until she found one as familiar to her as that of her parents', may Falon'Din guide them. She rested against Trewyn's grave as she often did and felt her body relax. "I always did feel restless when you went out hunting. Your arrows were always sharp and your aim always perfect, how else would you pierce my heart that even now it still bleeds for you? But I still worried. I still felt like I couldn't relax unless you were right beside me, in plain sight.

You would always tease me for that…" Myra felt tears begin to form. " 'I'll always come back', you'd say. 'I'll always return to you.' Well, I guess no one can keep all the promises they make.

…How do you think I feel now, vhenan? How do you think I feel now that you're gone, with no hope of coming back? I can't sleep. I'm so exhausted, but I can't relax into slumber like I used to in your arms.

And now I'm nearly three months with child, Trewyn. _Our_ child, that I'll have to raise _alone_. I can't do that, Trewyn. I can't look at our child and see your face every time. I know I am strong, but I can only carry so heavy of a burden, and this is too much."

Myra began to sob. She cried, terrified to her wit's end for the future. It was then, for the first time in months, she prayed. "Trewyn, if you can hear me, please relieve this burden. Please, please, please…I can't carry this alone. Not now. Not without you."

And as she cried, she exhausted herself to the point she could finally slip into the slumber she craved.

When she awoke, or "awoke", rather, the little aches and pains of her body were gone, alerting her that she had entered the Fade. If someone had asked her if she knew this part of the Fade only a day prior, she would have answered "Of course, I go there every night I fall asleep by Trewyn's grave." However, she did not feel that comforting familiarity tonight.

See, the Fade was a strange place. While reality was concrete, and could only be changed by great show of force, the Fade adapted to its occupants, their motivations, their desires, at times, even their fears.

 _Has it always been so dark here?_ Myra couldn't remember, but she felt a new sinister energy here. _Did I create this through my grief?_ Myra felt fear rush through her, but quickly pulled the reins on it. The Fade had many things to offer. Individuals with pure, focused energies could achieve anything in the Fade, but those who lost control could only succumb to the demons which prowled its expanses.

"I need a goal," she thought aloud. "I need to redirect myself towards something positive, affirmative, enlightening. I can't wallow in my misery tonight. I've obviously attracted the attention of a demon of some nature."

She began to walk north, or what direction she thought was north rather, churning ideas in her mind of what she would seek tonight.

"It is wise of you to exercise such caution."

The deep voice rang with such familiarity it stopped her in her tracks. It was the voice she had longed to hear, but never thought she would hear again.

"T-Trewyn…" her voice trembled.

"Yes."

She felt his breath on her neck, cold as death. _Be on your guard_ , her voice of reason said, but she only vaguely took note.

"Trewyn, I missed you," she felt tears well up as she hugged him, burying her head into his chest. Everything about him felt so familiar. His arms, strong from the years of training with a bow, wrapped around her and held her tight. She shivered. "You're so cold."

"You must be so lonely without me," he said.

She gave a wry chuckle. "Lonely does not even come close…"

His hand felt like ice as it touched her stomach through her robes. "You are with child…"

Myra nodded. "It's yours." Tears spilled over. "It's yours and I'll have to raise it alone."

"Tell me your worries," Trewyn whispered. His breath was frost. "Tell me what pains you… _let me take it from you_."

Myra gasped and backed away. Trewyn's figure began to… _change_. His feet became gnarled and skeletal, peeking out from a long, tattered black cloak. The Despair Demon floated about, its words coming out in icy hisses.

"So much pain and agony within you." It cackled. "It smells simply _delectable_."

"You will not make a meal of my sorrows," Myra said. She spun her staff from her back, readying herself for a fight.

"Silly little child, you've fed me every night your tears wet your husband's grave. You dare deny me my meals?"

"Silence!" Myra cast a fireball at it, then jumped behind a boulder as the demon shrieked in pain.

She shot lightning. The demon recovered quickly, erecting a barrier. She erected one of her own. It turned the boulder to ice and crushed it. Her shielding protected her from the ice shards. She spun her staff and created a gust of wind, pushing the demon back. Lightweight, it caught in the draft easily. It recovered and spun through the air high above, landing behind her and shooting its icy blast.

Myra's shield gave way and she tumbled backwards. The frosty gust cut her skin and chilled her to the bone. She fought to get out of its grasp and managed to Fade Step away. She felt a spell at her lips again and cast another fireball. The demon shrieked once more.

"Putrid, rotting child of flesh, you dare challenge me? You dare to hurt me?" Its smoldered form pierced her with an icy stare. "You will regret the day you denied me!"

And in a flurry of smoke, the demon vanished.

Myra shot awake only to find sunlight peeking through the treetops of the forest.

"What in the Creators' names…" She reached down to find a wetness between her legs. As she brought her hand up to examine, she felt her insides go cold.

"Blood."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

 _Vhenan – heart_

* * *

Three years passed.

Three years of pain and misery since Myra had lost her child that fateful night sleeping beside Trewyn's grave. Tensions between her clan and the humans of Wycome had only grown. The Duke had funded efforts to cut down the forests surrounding the city to allow further farmland expansion. The clansmen fought back against this expansion, of course. The forest was their home. Wycome already cut into the sea of trees and the Dalish had allowed it, but if they allowed this expansion, where would it end? Would these bastards cut down an entire forest to feed their gluttony and greed?

Myra pleaded with the Keeper to take immediate action and attack any humans that dare cut down a tree in their forest, but the Keeper refused. "We must try to act with peace towards aggression, da'len, lest we count ourselves among the aggressors." Reluctantly, Myra had visited the Duke of Wycome with a small party of the clan's swordsmen. The Duke would not grant them audience and the expansion continued.

"There is plenty of forest for all who wish to reap its benefits," the Keeper had said, but there were a number of clansmen that shared in Myra's fear and hatred. She often dispatched groups to patrol the perimeter of the forest, checking for any further expansion and killing anyone that ventured too far into the woods. As for herself, she took to the dangerous job of scouting ahead, further than the perimeter, to spy on the humans and gather any information she might deem useful for the clan.

It was on one of these reconnaissance missions that Myra saw _him_.

Myra had known about the family living on the small patch of farmland for a while. She had assumed they either had little money or little interest in expansion, since their farm had remained with a shack on a few acres of land for the past two years. Its stagnant nature had pushed it to the bottom of Myra's watch-list, so she only spied on it every so often. Now happened to be one of those times, and part of her regretted coming.

At first, Myra could only stare, mesmerized by the way the farm-boy's muscles stretched and contracted as he plowed the fields. His tawny hair blazed bright as a flame when the sun ignited it. He stood straight and wiped the sweat from his brow, panting from the hard labor.

Then, Myra felt disgusted with herself and the way her heartbeat quickened as he looked in her direction.

She ducked her head behind the tree, like a little girl hiding from a boy she liked. After her racing heart slowed, she took one last peek at the human.

 ** _No._** She scolded herself. _He's one of_ _ **them**_ _._ Her heart protested, but she forced herself up and returned to camp.

* * *

That night, Myra's head reeled with confusion. The Keeper had noticed her unease and asked her if she wanted a tea to help her sleep, but Myra turned her down. _I don't need the Keeper's help to do something so natural._

But the way she tossed and turned under her blankets said otherwise. Eventually, it gave way to pacing in circles around the perimeter of the camp. Hair that flamed in the sun and a gaze that pierced through the shadows flooded her mind. She was on her 10th lap when the halla began to get restless.

 _Well, this isn't doing me any good._ She reached over to pet one of the silver beasts, rubbing its neck affectionately. "Maybe if I just…see him again." She whispered to the halla. "Maybe it was just a trick of the light. Maybe if I just see him, see that he's one of _them_ …" The halla's big eyes looked at her unknowingly. She sighed, wishing the halla had answers.

A short time later, Myra had already found her way to the same spot where she had first laid eyes on him. The air smelled of smoke. A small light shone through the night, but through the moonlight and her adapted eyesight, she made out a pipe and the smoke rings the farm-boy blew. She watched with curiosity. Some of the clan used such pipes, but she had always wrinkled her nose at the smell. Now, she wanted to go back and try one for herself.

She dared to creep closer, figuring she could sneak a closer look at the man with the night to shield her from his dulled human vision. The closer she got, the more she was able to make him out: the cotton of his shirt and scratchy wool trousers. The night concealed her cautious approach, however, it did not conceal the twigs that snapped underfoot when she was but an arm's reach behind him.

"Who goes there?" He bellowed, leaping to his feet. His hand reached for his belt, and she instinctively reached for her back, but both found themselves without their weapons. Myra's eyes widened. By the Dread Wolf, how could she have forgotten her staff? He seemed just as terrified of the hilt missing from his belt.

The elf poised to run at a moment's notice, but she did not retreat. Part of her hoped when she saw his eyes, green as the forests in spring: lively and kind. He poised as well, ready to fight, but she recognized the way he placed his feet that he stood ready to defend, not attack.

"I have no quarrel with you," she spoke softly. "Tell me to leave, and I shall, and you will never see me again."

"Why are you here?" He rocked on his feet, keeping his muscles ready. "What do you want?"

Myra bit her lip and felt a blush rise up from her cheeks. Could she find it in her to admit the true reason she had come? She felt so foolish.

He lowered his guard. He seemed to sense her embarrassment. "What's your name?" His voice was as kind as his eyes.

"Myra," she said.

A hint of a smile crossed his lips. "Hello, Myra. My name is Darrell."

* * *

Over the next month, Myra visited Darrell's farm every day. When the sun beat down, she was the breeze that cooled him. When the labor seemed too much, she was a rush of strength. She was the song in the rustling of the trees that he began to whistle while he worked.

They only met under the cover of night, after most had wandered into the land of dreams. One tree stood taller than the rest, a stone's throw from his farm. Darrell had carved their first initials into its trunk, and thus it became their meeting place.

They would sit together at the base of the tree as he smoked his pipe and told her stories of life in Denerim during the Blight, impoverished life on a veteran's penance in Wycome, and farm life. Every aspect of him enchanted her: his muscular frame and rough skin, his bulbous nose and crooked teeth, his cracked lips that blew perfect smoke rings… Everything about him was new and exciting.

He told her about his family: how his ma patched their clothes and wove blankets for the winter; how his pa had gotten injured in the Battle of Ostagar and his left leg never fully recovered; how his two little sisters milked the cow and collected eggs from the hens every morning.

She told him nothing, and he accepted that. "You never have to tell me anything you don't want to." He could read her the same way Trewyn used to, sensing how she felt without her saying a word. Oft-times, she felt he understood her better than her own clan did.

Their reprieve didn't last long, however. Love couldn't cool the hot sun that beat down overhead and dried up the soil. Love couldn't make the crops grow in spite of the drought. And love couldn't feed his family. The fork in fate's road came a few months later when his family's cow fell ill.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," he said, pacing in front of their tree. "I'm no healer, and we can't afford to pay one. What will I do? We're almost out of wheat, if that cow dies, my family will surely starve."

Myra came to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Let me help, vhenan. My people know much. They might know how to nurse your treasured animal back to health."

Darrell looked at her dubiously. "But so many people in your clan hate us, you've said it yourself. Why would they help me?"

"Because I asked. I am First to the Keeper. They will listen."

But Myra could not make them listen. After years of bloodshed on both sides, even the Keeper said it would be best not to meddle in human affairs.

And so when the cow passed, Darrell gave her his pipe, and the next day, he was gone. A Grey Warden passing through the area had taken pity on the family's fate, and offered a valuable jeweled ring of Orlesian make in exchange for Darrell's conscription. Eventually, Darrell's family left the shack and moved into the city.

They never knew about Myra, how she pleaded with her clansmen to help them, or the distrust she began to harbor for not just humans, but all peoples.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

 _Shem'len/shem_ – racial slur against humans, literally "quick people"

 _Da'len –_ child

* * *

Three more years passed. Myra's twenty-fourth birthday celebration was a month away. The Shem'len were holding a meeting at their temple regarding the Circle mages' and Templars' rebellions. Myra was to represent her clan.

Myra knew little of the Circle mages and the Templars aside from what she'd heard from her clan and Darrell. She knew each Dalish clan only kept two mages at a time, lest the Templars come hunting them. She knew the shem imprisoned their mages in what they called "Circles", due to fear of a mage's susceptibility to demonic possession. Whether that warranted their imprisonment inside the Circles…Myra felt it didn't. With proper training, any mage could learn to resist temptation. Regardless, her disagreement with Shem'len policy did not make her eager for exile from her clan.

Myra burst into the Keeper's tent. "You're making me leave?" She couldn't believe it. After all her years of service, and the Keeper would just send her away?

"No, da'len." Keeper Deshanna said, standing from her seating on the floor. "I am asking you to serve as our representative."

"But I don't _want_ to leave the clan." Myra followed her outside of the tent, tugging at her arm. "I don't _want_ to leave _you_."

"You will not be gone long, da'len." Snow crunched underfoot. "Barely enough time for the frost to melt from the trees."

A clansman approached them. Myra let go of the Keeper and bit her lip hard.

"Keeper, one of the hunters hasn't returned. Should we send a search party?"

"Yes, thank you," the Keeper said.

"Keeper, please," Myra begged once her kin was out of earshot. "Do not make me go alone."

"You will not be alone!" She was finally losing patience. "This is not a matter of debate, da'len, and I do not understand why you must make such a fuss! You _must_ go to the Conclave and you _must_ represent our clan with the dignity a First should show."

Myra spent the night crying silently over having to leave the clan, the fear of losing her clan to some disaster and being alone creeping into her mind.

She never could have expected what would occur at the Conclave, nor the chain of events it would spring into motion, nor that she would be at the epicenter.

* * *

The Conclave and its explosion seemed to pass in a tumultuous blur. Myra Lavellan, an elven mage, went from a no-name, to a prisoner of war, to the Herald of Andraste all within a matter of days.

"That'd be enough to make anyone's head spin," Varric had told her.

She found it difficult to leave her cabin in Haven at first, the newfound responsibility of acting as the "Maker's" prophet debilitating her. So much weighed on her shoulders, and it seemed to be her burden to carry alone.

Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine were sweet to her during those days, and her initial fortifications she put up around them slowly began to fall in favor of confiding her fears and worries to them.

"So much rests upon me," she told the three of them one night after they had brought a bottle of wine to her cabin. "If my each and every action isn't methodical and executed perfectly, I'll have the Chantry, Templars, mages, nobles, and who knows what else ready to rip me to shreds."

Cassandra scoffed. "They can try."

"And they will," Leliana said. "But that is what we're here for, Myra: to protect you. You musn't fear failure. Any mistake I can turn to an advantage at the flip of copper." Leliana's eyes twinkled with mischief.

"That is, if word gets out about these possible mistakes," Josephine said. "And we _all_ make mistakes, Lady Lavellan. I could not even begin to list all of the ones I made."

"I'm sure Yvette could," Leliana said.

"Maker's breath, I'm sure she could…However, mistakes can make you more personable, relatable. I would not fear them."

"You must learn to trust us, Herald," Cassandra said. "Even Andraste did not carry her burdens alone."

And so, Myra slowly began to leave her cabin. She acquainted herself with Flyssa, Harritt, Threnn, and Adan. They seemed like an agreeable enough lot, though she still held a grudge against Threnn for calling her "knife-ears." She became acquainted with the War Table and met Commander Cullen for the first time. She flushed when he looked her way and cursed her racing heart. _Mythal, grant me your blessing that this man only_ looks _like my next mistake._ Varric was pleasant company. He evaded personal questions with humor the same way she did with flattery and partial truths. She appreciated that about him, so she tried not to pry, and he afforded her the same. Cassandra smiled, seeing her out of the cabin, and asked her about her clan. She appreciated her caring nature and felt a little bonded to her already.

But her favorite person to spend time with, by far, was Solas. Oh, how her mind swam with questions speaking with him. Where was he from? How did he spend his time alone? What wonders had he experienced in the Fade? Before she could stop herself, she had shared her own beliefs about the spirits with him.

"Imagine if spirits were not a rarity but a part of our natural world like..." Solas began, "a fast-flowing river. Yes, it can drown careless children, but it can also carry a merchant's goods or grind a miller's flour. That is what the world could be if the Veil were not present. For better or worse."

"But what if trickles of this river already cross into our world?" Myra said. "The Fade is the river and its energies seep through the cracks into this world, the bedrock."

Solas stopped and put a hand to his chin, pondering. "It's certainly possible. The water flows more freely where the sediment, the Veil, is looser or weakened. Do you believe such?"

Myra nodded. "I do. I believe our realm already coexists with the Fade, that the Fade's energy flows through this world in ways we simply cannot observe or interpret. Some call this destiny or fate, but I believe it is the work of something greater."

"The gods?" Solas asked.

Myra shook her head. "No, at least, not in the way most people think of gods. I don't believe in the gods."

Solas raised his brow. "An interesting view for one of Dalish descent." He invited her inside his cabin, out of the cold, which she generously accepted.

"My clan never knew, of course." She shed her cloak absentmindedly. "The Dalish hold firmly to their beliefs, but I try to convey my views through my stories of the Creators."

"You were First to the Keeper, I presume?" Solas asked. He offered her a glass of wine, which she took. It warmed her bones.

"I was."

"So you must know many stories."

"I could not count."

Solas poured himself a glass and sipped from it. "Tell me, then: Do you believe the stories of the Dread Wolf?"

Myra crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. She sipped her wine. Her opinions about most of the other gods, such as Falon'Din and Dirthamen being best friends, "twin souls", rather than brothers, she'd already determined, but Fen'Harel remained a mystery to her. The Dalish seemed to view him with fear and disdain, but he must have sealed away the Creators with probable cause…

"I think there is much we do not know about Fen'Harel…why he sealed the gods away, or if he even did. Our stories are not a perfect history, but rather interpretation after interpretation. Much is lost in our oral tradition. As such, I'm afraid I must say I don't know whether I believe in the stories surrounding the Dread Wolf."

"A thoughtful answer, indeed. One many would not care to give." Solas sighed. "Such is the problem, many care only to see things from one side or the other. In a sense, I do not blame them. Much comfort lies in numbers."

"Agreed," Myra said. "But if sheep flock and wolves travel in packs," Myra smirked at him, "what does that make us, I wonder?"

Such went their conversations: a concoction of swapping knowledge and flirtations. But those fledgling days in Haven could only last so long. It was time to leave the nest.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

 _Ma serranaas –_ Thank you

 _Ir abelas_ – Sorry

 _Lethallin/lethallan_ – kinsman

* * *

"Wait." Myra held up her hand, signaling the group to hold. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas stopped behind her, poising for battle.

"What is it?" Varric asked, holding Bianca at the ready. Myra hissed at him to be quiet, listening. They had already spent most of the day in the Hinterlands, clearing the area of apostates, Templars, and bandits. Smoke filled the air of nearby houses burning.

The Herald had pushed her group all day, giving them little rest, determined to make the area safe for merchants and refugees alike once again. They had soldiered on without complaint, circling the landscape, fighting enemies…but they were tired. So was Myra, and she wanted nothing more than to follow the setting sun's example and settle into her cot for the night. She would have finished leading the group to camp if she hadn't just sensed something.

She motioned the party to follow her, creeping into a ransacked cottage. Myra liked to think she was perceptive, able to pick up on cues simply from the way energy shifted in the air, and as she passed by that cottage, she had felt something… _pull_ her towards it.

"Herald, what are we _doing_ here?" Varric said. "We already checked this cottage earlier today."

"Quiet, Varric," Cassandra snapped. She seemed to sense it too. Cassandra did have a strong intuition.

Solas observed quietly.

Myra tried to tune into the energy around her once more, to find the hook that pulled her here in the first place and let it guide her. She breathed deeply, emptying herself of all distraction.

…

Dust and ash hung in the air and in the distance, the black wolves cried. It was a sorrowful cry. They had lost one of their own. Then, the air became still…

…

 _Pull_.

Myra's gaze turned to the door on the far left, blocked by a beam. She looked to Cassandra, who nodded, having sensed it too. With a grunt, she shoved the beam out of the way. It thudded into the wall, shaking the already unstable structure. Myra opened the door and signaled the group to remain silent.

The small bedroom might have once been homey, but now ash blanketed the bedsheets and smoke seeped into the walls. A couple's bed rested in the center and a smaller bed was pushed against the wall. A rocking horse, hand-crafted, stood next to it and a doll lay on the floor close by. The rest of the cottage had felt lifeless, but here…something was different about this room.

Myra walked the perimeter, trying to find the source of the initial pull she had experienced. She touched the larger bed, the soot rubbing off on her fingers. It obviously hadn't been disturbed since the start of the chaos. It was then, as she looked back to the party, holding by the door, that she noticed something. Footprints, too small to be anything but a child's…They led from the doorway to the small bed across the room.

She walked over quietly, hoping not to startle the child, and got on all fours. The space beneath the bedframe was dark, but she could sense fear emanating from the blackness.

"Hello?" she said.

Silence, but as she listened more closely, she could hear the faint sounds of breathing. Myra looked around and grabbed the doll off the floor next to her. "You dropped your doll." She held it under the bed and waited.

The wait seemed forever, but finally, a cautious hand reached out and took it from her. Myra's eyes had begun to adjust to the dark and saw a very frightened pair of eyes looking back at her.

"Why don't you come on out, child? No one's going to hurt you here."

There was no reply. Myra twisted her mouth a bit. She didn't want to just leave the child here alone. She felt a tap on her back.

"Hey, Herald." Varric held out a nugskin flask. "Try this, she might be thirsty."

Myra sniffed the inside and smelled nothing. Maybe it was prejudiced of her, but she wanted to check before giving a child a dwarf's personal flask. She sloshed it around. "I have some water if you come out. It must be hard to get with all the fighting outside. Come now, you _must_ be thirsty."

Myra saw the girl lick her dry lips. She reached a hand under the bed, making eye contact. "Come on. It's alright. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you, child."

Shuffling, scurrying, a little girl finally crawled her way out from underneath the bedframe. Myra handed her the nugskin, which she drank from in large gulps. The tiny thing was completely covered in soot. Myra touched her gently, checking for any injuries.

"What is your name, child?"

"Fennec."

Myra dismissed the image of the small rodent. "Fennec?"

"Like the animal."

Myra nodded. "Where are your parents, Fennec?"

"Dead." She said the word without feeling. So matter-of-fact…It pained the Herald.

"How would you like to come with me, Fennec? We can get you some food and I'll keep you safe."

The girl seemed to consider it a moment before nodding.

"Okay, Fennec, let's go."

* * *

"What you did was kind."

Myra turned her gaze from Fennec's sleeping form to Cassandra.

The Seeker shifted her stance. "It takes a noble heart to defend the helpless and serve without reward."

Myra played with the human girl's long, matted hair, not meeting Cassandra's gaze. "I couldn't just leave her there…"

"There are those who would have. Their hearts have hardened over the years. But yours is softer than you let on, driven to comfort those in need." Cassandra paused for a moment. "I…know I judged you harshly when we first met, but I wanted you to know that since our meeting, I've gained a profound respect for you."

Myra felt warmth spread inside of her, and a hint of a smile spread across her lips. "Thank you, Seeker. Your words are kind."

"They are also true, and you are welcome. I suggest now that the girl is asleep you get some rest yourself tonight."

"I will. You get some sleep too."

They nodded their 'good nights' to one another, and Cassandra entered her tent, but Myra stayed by the fire, petting Fennec's hair as she slept with her head on the Herald's lap. Varric sat further away on an old tree stump, using the light of the fire to scribble down the latest story. Myra had asked earlier what he was writing and he said that Fennec's rescue today would make a great plot point in a story idea he'd been toying with. Not wanting to interrupt his muse, she'd allowed him to work in peace.

It was shortly after Cassandra had left that Varric rolled up his parchment and bottled his ink. "I'm heading to bed too. Don't stay up too late. We need that sharp instinct of yours for tomorrow."

Myra smiled politely. "I'll keep that in mind. Good night, Varric."

The dwarf retired to his tent. Solas looked up from the object he was studying (a shard of some nature), and stood.

"The Seeker's and my opinions differ in many things, but we seem to be in agreement of one thing tonight." Solas sat next to her, putting just enough space between them to make Myra feel comfortable. "What you did was kind."

"Thank you," Myra said. She felt her heartbeat quicken and she cursed her romantic nature. Turning away quickly, she hid her flushing cheeks from his gaze.

"Flustered?" She could hear his smirk.

"No," she replied quickly. Too quickly.

"The pink in your cheeks speaks to the contrary, Herald," Solas said.

"Ir abelas, lethallin. You must be mistaken."

The two sat in silence for a moment, and Myra had begun a downward spiral into panic. She wasn't ready, she wasn't ready, by the Dread Wolf, she wasn't ready. She couldn't open her heart again to more pain and hurt. Not again. Not after—She couldn't even bring herself to think their names right now.

"My eyes see many things, lethallan," Solas finally spoke. "I do not believe they were mistaken in the soft color of your cheeks, but I do admit that they are not all-seeing. For that, I apologize."

Myra felt her heart begin to slow from its panic only to swoon. His words were such poetry. She could become his betrothed now and probably die happy if she could listen to his sweet prose day-in and day-out. She shook the thoughts from her head. "Ma serranaas."

Fennec stirred in her sleep, tossing fitfully. Myra hushed her and pet her hair. When the girl's fits refused to cease, Myra began to sing a gentle lullaby.

 _"Elgara vallas, da'len_

 _Melava somniar_

 _Mala tara aravas_

 _Ara ma'desen melar"_

To her surprise, Solas began to hum along, though whether it was a conscious or unconscious decision, she didn't know.

" _Iras ma ghilas, da'len_

 _Ara ma'nedan ashir_

 _Dirthara lothlenan'as_

 _Bal emma mala dir_

 _Tel'enfenim, da'len_

 _Irassal ma ghilas_

 _Ma garas mir renan_

 _Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

 _Ara ma'athlan vhenas."_

As she sang, Fennec fell back into a deep slumber. While she almost certainly could not understand exactly what the song meant, the soothing nature of the Dalish lullaby must have conveyed its intent. Wherever she went in her dreams, she need not fear, for Myra would call her home.

"While I am certainly not the first to say it, I must say you sing beautifully," Solas said.

"Ma serranaas, lethallin." Myra gave a polite smile and turned to look at her kin. "I often sang for the children of my clan."

"One of your responsibilities as First to the Keeper, I presume."

"Yes, I had many responsibilities," she said.

"You must have handled them well to be trusted to represent your clan at the Conclave."

"I had my faults," Myra admitted, "but I hope to handle the responsibilities of this Heraldry just as well. Bring honor to my clan in hopes honor brings safety."

"A lofty goal," Solas said. "I hope you reach it."

"As do I, but enough talk of me. If you don't mind, I'd like to hear more about your journeys in the Fade."

Solas cracked a smile. "I am happy to share."

They spent the rest of the night sharing their personal journeys through the Fade, though soon their conversations drifted elsewhere, speaking of the meanings of historical events, the purpose to life, and theories of what came in the deep slumber of passing.

When the early hours of the morning came, Myra found herself curled into the fellow elf's chest, who was still sleeping soundly.

And although she could not remember, she wondered if they'd walked the Fade together in her dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

* * *

 _Din'dirthera ma abelas –_ Do not say sorry.

 _hah'ren_ – elder, title of respect

 _Ma serranaas –_ Thank you

* * *

Myra was grateful for the time it took to travel back to Haven. Fennec was a pleasant companion, soft-spoken and easygoing. She rarely complained about the difficulties of the journey, though her quiet nature often worried Myra that her needs passed unmet. For example, if she let the girl serve her own food, she always underserved herself. After a couple nights of hearing nothing but her rumbling stomach, Myra began to prepare her portions, experimenting until she found the right amount to fill Fennec's stomach.

Often times, Myra could sense the fear radiating from the girl's body as she looked back down the road they traveled, and at night she'd cry out for her mama and papa. Yet, during the day she refused to speak of them, giving only the most elusive shrugs when asked how she was feeling.

Despite all this, Myra liked to think Fennec was warming up to her. The Herald was used to childcare from her time as First to the Keeper, and she kept Fennec, and the rest of the group, for that matter, entertained with songs and stories of elven lore. Fennec's favorite seemed to be the story of how Falon'Din came to guide the elderly to the Beyond. She asked to be told the same story every night Myra held her in her arms to help guide her to slumber. Usually, she fell asleep by the time Dirthamen lost sight of his brother from the other side of the Veil, but Myra always continued the story anyways. She found finishing the story with the same Dalish lullaby every night ensured Fennec a peaceful slumber, and she wondered if perhaps Falon'Din helped guide her in her dreams…

Eventually, they reached Haven.

"I will go and find Cullen. I wish to speak with him," Cassandra said and left the party.

"And I need to get back to my story," Varric said. "All this elven lore has my head swimming with ideas. I'll catch you later, Herald."

Solas, however, remained at Myra's side. "Well, we've made it safely back to Haven, and now with one new companion." He nodded politely at Fennec. "Now, I must ask, lethallan, what do you plan to do with the girl?"

Myra instinctively drew the small child closer. "I've been thinking about that too. I plan to keep her for the time being…maybe mount a search effort so we know what became of her parents."

"Killed amongst all the fighting, no doubt. Be wary, lethallan. The Breach remains our foremost priority," Solas said. "We can't afford any…distractions."

Fennec clenched her robes.

"Has my kindness offended you, lethallin?" Myra said, a hint of venom in her voice. She pet Fennec's hair to soothe her.

"Not at all, I hold no contempt for your actions. But the fate of Thedas rests on your shoulders, da'len. I merely wish to help you maintain a clear perspective."

Myra nodded slowly. "As you say." She looked towards the girl. "Come, Fennec, let's see if we can find a place for you to stay."

"I wanna stay with you, Myra," she said.

Myra smiled a little. "That can be arranged. I'll be able to keep a closer eye on you that way, make sure you're safe." She reached out and Fennec held her hand.

However, as they approached the Chantry, fear crept into Myra's heart. "Elgar'nan…" An angry rabble had congregated around the Chantry doors, mages on one side, Templars on the other.

"Your kind killed the Most Holy!" one Templar said.

"And your kind let her die!" a mage cried.

They seemed ready to fight. Cullen stepped in. "Enough!"

"Knight-Captain," the Templar said.

"That is _not_ my title." He scolded the two sides. "We are _not_ Templars anymore, we are _all_ part of the Inquisition."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" The crowd parted to allow a man in Chantry robes to step through.

"Chancellor Roderick," Cullen said.

"The Inquisition said it would restore order, but I fail to see how you will achieve it."

Cullen's eyes narrowed. "Return to your duties, all of you!" The rabble dispersed at his bidding.

Myra stepped towards the Commander and the chancellor, who were talking heatedly amongst themselves.

"You can't just continue this parade of heretics!" Chancellor Roderick said. "We must wait for the Grand Clerics to elect a new Divine and follow _her_ orders."

"We cannot afford to wait," Myra said.

"Ah, it's you, the great heretic in the flesh," the Chancellor called.

Myra smiled sweetly. "So nice to see you remember me. Now remember this, the old order failed, a new order must rise to take its place."

"And above all else, the Breach remains our priority," Cullen cut in.

The Chancellor huffed and stormed away, fuming.

Myra turned to Cullen. "So…why is the Chancellor still here?"

Cullen scoffed. "He's all bark. Besides, the last thing we need is for him to die at our hands, a martyr to his cause." The Commander shook his head. "Anyways, was there something you needed?"

"Yes, actually. Commander, I'd like you to meet the newest member of the Inquisition." Myra placed a hand on Fennec's back and gently guided her into the Commander's view. He smiled at the girl and crouched down to her eye level.

"Well, what a pleasant addition. Hello there, little one."

Fennec blushed and buried her face into Myra's robes.

"Who is our newest member, exactly?"

"She says her name is Fennec," Myra answered. "She's an orphan from one of the cottages outside of Redcliffe." Myra twirled one of Fennec's dark locks in her fingers. "I was wondering if we might get her situated in my quarters. I'd like to keep a close eye on her."

"Of course, I'll see to it. Are you injured, little one?"

Fennec peeked her face out from Myra's robes and shook her head. "Myra's been taking good care of me."

Cullen looked up and gave Myra a lopsided smile. "Well, I'm glad to hear that."

Myra flushed. _Such a nice smile…_ "I'm going to go and get her some soup, then take her to my quarters to rest. It's been a long journey from the Hinterlands."

Cullen nodded. "I understand, I'll see to it that provisions are brought by the time you get back."

Myra smiled and felt her heart flutter a little. "Thank you, Commander. We'll talk later."

"Until then."

Myra took Fennec's hand and led her to the tavern. Flyssa greeted her in her usual flustered manner and served them their soup of the day, chicken and corn chowder. Myra secretly kept a close eye on Fennec, methodically eating her soup at the same pace as the girl.

They ate in silence for a while. Myra tried to make conversation, but Fennec wouldn't have it. She seemed skittish in the new environment. It wasn't until they got back to their quarters, safe from the public eye, that she began to talk.

"The snow's pretty," she said, staring out the window.

Myra smiled. "And cold?"

Fennec shut her mouth quickly, playing with the fraying strings of her rough-spun dress. Myra couldn't imagine how cold she must be.

The girl didn't have to answer. Myra grabbed her blankets from the bed and wrapped them around her. "Stay here and try to stay warm."

Her eyes widened. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to make you some new clothes."

"But when will you be back? Don't leave me!" Fennec cried. It was the first real emotion she'd seen from her.

"Hush, child." Myra sighed, pushing the child's grasping hands away. "I won't be gone long."

She left her quarters and headed to the crafting station. Harritt showed her how to work the crafting stations as she pulled together some wolf pelts. The black fur coat was small, but it should be enough to cover Fennec from her shoulders to knees. She had already begun criticizing the stitching on the left side as she left the smithy.

However, as she passed the training grounds, Commander Cullen stopped her.

"Herald, a word?"

Myra fumbled with the fur coat. She really should be getting back to Fennec… But if the Commander wanted a word… "Make it quick," she finally said.

"Right. I was simply wondering what you intended to do with the girl. Fennec, was her name? Cassandra was debriefing me, and she and I are both concerned about the whereabouts of her parents."

"Believe it or not, I share in your concern." Myra said.

Cullen cocked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Was that ever in doubt?"

"Well…" Cullen shifted his weight to one side. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't you been telling her stories of the elven gods?"

"Yes." Myra didn't see his point.

"And you realize Fennec is not an elf?"

"Obviously."

"Well…Cassandra and I just think…maybe she should be raised with stories of the Chantry, by her parents, of course."

Anger boiled inside Myra. Was he insinuating what she thought? That she was kidnapping a human child and indoctrinating her in the ways of her people? She didn't need to say a word.

"Erm…perhaps…I didn't think this through." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Let me make this clear: I intend to look for this girl's parents, and if they are dead, as she says, then her well-being will be my priority. If that means she wishes to go to the Chantry, then that is her choice that she can make on her own, without pressure from any party. Is that understood?"

"Erm…yes…sorry…"

"Anything else, Commander?" Myra said.

"No, Your Worship, that will be all."

"Good." _Now that he's wasted a sufficient amount of my time…_

On the way back to her small cabin, Myra was fuming. How dare he assume the absolute worse of her, and Cassandra too! Damn them both, may the Void take them. She shoved the door open, fur coat still in hand, but when she looked around…

"Shit, where is she?"

She threw the coat across the room and rushed out the door. Just like her to lose the blighted girl right after ensuring Cullen she would take care of her. Hadn't she told the brat to stay inside and keep warm? As she passed Cullen, she put up the façade that she was simply walking through Haven and not frantically looking for her lost little girl. _Shit, shit, I need help. Who can I trust to help me find her?_

Cassandra's heart was in the right place, Myra supposed, but she obviously didn't trust Myra, so why should Myra trust her?

Varric had a heart of gold, but she still felt wary around him.

That only left one companion, the only one she was growing to trust. And thank the Creators she thought to go to him first. She knocked on the door to Solas's cabin. The fellow elf smiled when he opened the door, then turned back. "Da'len, it appears we have a guest."

Fennec's eyes brightened when she saw Myra, but she made no move towards her caretaker, huddled by the fire and wrapped in two sets of fur blankets. Then, suddenly, Fennec's eyes turned fearful, as though realizing she had disobeyed Myra's orders to stay inside until she returned.

Myra's features softened and her anger dissipated as soon as she saw the small girl safe and sound. She rushed in past Solas and picked up the child, wrapping her up in her arms. "You had me worried sick."

"Sorry." Her mumbled apology was only muffled by all the blankets.

"Don't scare me like that again," she said.

"I found her wandering around Haven with only your bedsheets to keep her warm," Solas said. "So I brought her inside. She's asked for more stories of the elves, but I told her I couldn't tell them as well as you, so I told her stories of my journeys through the Fade."

"Thank you so much for keeping her safe," Myra said. "You have my deepest gratitude." She held Fennec close.

"You seem to care deeply for her."

"I do."

"It's…curious," he said. "But that is something to discuss another time, perhaps. For now," he sat in a nearby chair, "it is time for you tell us one of your stories."

Fennec's face lit up and she struggled out of Myra's arms to hurry next to Solas, eagerly awaiting her favorite storyteller.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoy my stories just as much as the little one," Myra smirked at Solas.

"Perhaps," Solas said. "But you're buying time."

"Yes, and it was time enough."

Fennec watched in wide-eyed fascination as Myra began to tell the story of Dirthamen and the secrets he gave to the animals. Solas smiled gently as he listened to her melodic voice. Myra could see them absorbing every word, soaking in the tonal shifts and dramatic gestures.

After the part where the foxes traded their secrets for wings, Myra could see Fennec start to nod off by the fire. The Herald trailed off in her story, her voice tinkling to a halt like a music box. Warmth filled her upon seeing her little girl's slumbering form. She stood and went to scoop up the sleeping child, but Solas grabbed her hand.

"Do not stop," he requested gently.

"My audience is asleep," she said.

"Not all of them."

Myra looked to the ground trying to hide her blush.

"I'm sure you know how the story ends."

"I prefer your rendition, you make the gods personable," Solas said. "And your voice is pleasing to the ears."  
"I enjoy yours as well," Myra said.

"Perhaps we should speak with each other more often."

"I'd enjoy that."

Solas stood there for a moment, his hand still holding hers. She could feel him studying her, trying to piece her together, perhaps? Myra kept her gaze glued to the floor, cursing her flushing cheeks.

Finally, Solas let go of her and scooped Fennec off the floor. "Come, I'll walk you to your cabin."

The cold gusts off the Frostbacks bit Myra and chilled her to the bone. She saw Solas draw Fennec closer and Myra wrapped the two sets of blankets around her more tightly. The snow and frost crunched underfoot as they walked to Myra's cabin on the other side of Haven. The winds only blew harder, pushing them to and fro, as they made it to her front door.

"Bring her in and close the door!" Myra shouted over the wind's howling. Solas heeded, shoving it shut with his shoulder. Fennec awoke momentarily from the jostling, but a few quiet words and a kiss on the forehead from Myra sent her back into a peaceful slumber.

"Mothering seems to come naturally to you," Solas said.

"I've had some practice," Myra smiled at him as she walked around the room to light the candles. The storm brewing had made for an early night.

"You might want to head out soon," she said. "Once that storm hits, it could take a while to clear up."

"That's not my concern," he said, walking over to the cot laid on the floor for Fennec and laying her there to rest.

"What is your concern, then?" Myra asked.

Solas approached her. "Overstaying my welcome."

Myra gave a light chuckle. "I know how we'll avoid that." She went to her desk and pulled out an unfinished bottle of wine from the drawer. "Rowan's Rose? I'm afraid I don't have glasses."

"A wistful spirit from a beautiful spirit, I could not ask for more."

Myra blushed and uncorked the bottle with a stray dagger on the desk. She took the first swig and felt the comforting burn of alcohol. "Flatterer." Myra passed the bottle to him. "If I wasn't mistaken, I'd say you're trying to bed me."  
Solas gave a satisfied sigh after his swig and passed the bottle. "I was not the one who suggested the bottle." He smirked. "And perhaps you would be mistaken, I'd want more than to bed you."

"Really now?" Myra flashed a flirty smile. "I'm intrigued." She drank. " _You_ intrigue me."

"Well, it seems we have much in common." Reach, pass, drink. "We each find the other intriguing."

Myra giggled and took two swigs. She could feel her body start to tingle, the beginnings of sweet intoxication. Solas seemed to be feeling it too, the way he leaned back, making himself at home on the bed. She'd never seen him so relaxed. Then again, he could probably say the same for her.

She took a moment to admire his lithe form, typical of all elves. His loose robes conveyed years of wandering and the wisdom he'd acquired along the way. She lusted for that knowledge. Often, she'd been told she was wise beyond her years, and she yearned for his kindred spirit.

"Where does your clan hail from?" Solas asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

"Mostly from the north, near the Free Marches."

"And you enjoyed your time in the clan?"

Myra scoffed. "Tis an oversimplification. Life has provided me much hardship."

"Were you bonded?"

Myra furrowed her brow. "What makes you ask?"

"The ring on your left hand. Did you think it had escaped my notice?"

"No." Myra twisted the bonding ring around her finger a few times. Its wood felt unusually chill to the touch. "I merely do not think of it." Myra's face fell. _Trewyn…_ A profound sadness filled her being. How long had it been since she'd visited his grave?

Solas seemed to recognize the error of his actions immediately, standing up and rushing to her. "Lethallan, ir abelas. I did not realize—"

Damn this wine. Damn this intoxication. The tears came too easily, escaping the prison of her scrunched eyes. "No, you had every right to ask. Suffice it to say I'm bonded no longer."

Solas wiped her tears. "Hush, da'len. Let us speak of other things."

* * *

"Myra."

Myra stirred in her slumber. "Hm?"

"I'm hungry."

Myra could not be asked to open her eyes. Her head throbbed. She waved the child away and nestled into the familiar warmth of her bedmate's chest. "A few minutes, da'len. Let me wake up."

She heard the child start to get ready. She breathed heavily into her lover's chest. "Mmm…Vhenan?" He didn't respond. She tried again. "Vhenan?" No reply. "Trewyn?"

She sat up to find Solas's brow furrowed. Her blood ran cold.

"I-Ir abelas, hah'ren, I—"

He hushed her. "Din'dirthera ma abelas, da'len." He pulled her closer and kissed her forehead sleepily. Myra flushed.

"Are you ready to go yet?" Fennec asked.

"A few minutes, Fennec, a few minutes." Myra sat up in bed. The sun had already risen. "It seems we've slept in. How long do you suppose we slept?"

"Too few hours," Solas said. "I cannot recall even stepping into the Fade."

"The cooks won't be working right now," Myra said.

Solas stared out the window for a long time. "No, I suppose they won't."

Myra unraveled her now messy bun of hair and worked out some of the tangles. "Get ready. We'll head to the tavern and I'll buy us something to eat."  
"That won't be necessary—"

"It's rude to decline," Myra interrupted him.

Solas stopped, then smirked a bit. "I suppose it is. You have my thanks."

Myra smiled at him and threw on her daily robe and a ring velvet cloak. Solas threw his shirt over his head. The three of them left Myra's cabin together. Leliana gave them a curious look as they passed and Myra gave a sheepish smile.

"Did we…?" she muttered to Solas. Fennec walked behind them.

"No, we simply fell asleep."

Myra sighed in relief.

"I have questions, lethallan," Solas said.

Myra's heart stopped. She nodded slowly. She owed him an explanation.

They reached the tavern, already bustling with activity. Soldiers eased off the weight of their training with tankards of ale glugged amongst themselves. Myra did not envy them. Her training regimen after Trewyn died was just as brutal as theirs. She spent every day pushing her limits and every night drained to the core, though whether that empty feeling was from the training or her mourning she still wasn't quite sure.

 _Trewyn…_ Solas and Fennec found a table for them and sat quietly. Fennec twiddled her thumbs while Solas observed Myra. She acted as flustered as Flyssa when ordering their breakfast of pan-seared potatoes and eggs. _This shemlen food is so strange…_ She shook the thought away as she paid for her meal, taking time to count out the appropriate coins. Her hands trembled as she set them on the wooden counter. Solas's gaze weighed heavy on her. He would have so many questions…ones she was not ready to answer but knew she was obligated to.

When she returned with the food, she sat next to Fennec, away from Solas. "Hah'ren," she bowed her head a little, handing him his plate, then handed Fennec hers. The child's gaze was downcast…she could sense Myra's nerves.

"Here, Fennec," she patted the child's hair and gave her a gentle kiss on the temple. Fennec stuffed her mouth full of eggs, presumably to do anything but talk.

"Ma serraanas, lethallan," Solas began eating.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group. Myra ate small bites of her food, very conscious of her every movement. She did not meet Solas's gaze, eyes only for her plate.

Fennec finished long before the rest of them, and, unable to stand the tension in the air anymore, it was she who broke the silence. "What's a da'len?"

"Da'len means child," Solas said. "It is often used as a term of endearment."

"What's that?" Fennec asked.

"Endearment? It is affection, the very force that—"

"It means," Myra cut in, "that I care for you. Why do you ask, Fennec?"

"You called me da'len when we woke up." Suddenly, she pouted. "I wanted to make sure you weren't calling me names."

"Have you been called names before?" Myra asked.

Fennec shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Yes. There was this boy from Redcliffe. He would always make fun of my hair." She flattened her curls with her hands. Myra frowned and gently took her hands off her head, kissing them.

"Your hair is curly, like mine, my child. The fault is his for speaking hurtful words, not yours for having curls."

"Curly hair is still an abnormality," Solas said, "but that is not to say it is bad." His eyes twinkled. "It makes you unique."

Myra and Fennec both flushed.

They finished their food and Fennec went to pet the horses. That left Solas and Myra alone to finally have their discussion.

"Trewyn was my betrothed," Myra said, watching Fennec's curls bounce as she ran down the path out of Haven's stronghold. "A skilled hunter in my clan. His arrow always hit its mark." Myra smiled sadly. "We were bonded for a year before the shem—drunk villagers of Wycome…killed him and the rest of his scouting party." Myra clutched her arms around herself. "He left me alone…with child."

"What became of the child?" Solas asked.

"I lost it…even before the quickening…"

A profound silence fell over them, but Haven did not stop to mourn for her lost child. Cries of soldiers training resounded off the mountains, snow still landed on her neck, melted, and chilled her…as icy as the Despair Demon's touch. Myra shivered.

"Ir abelas, da'len. You have suffered much at such a young age." Solas tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"Ma serranaas, hah'ren." Myra drew closer to him. Then, she laughed a bit. "If my Keeper was here, she would chastise me. 'Why do you still mourn, da'len? His grave will grow muddy with your tears. You are First to the Keeper.'"

"I am not your Keeper," Solas said. "And you are not the First when in my company."

Myra felt her eyes sting a bit with tears that she quickly bit back. "Ma serranaas, lethallin."

"You are most welcome, lethallan."


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

* * *

The meeting with the Clerics in Val Royeaux…did not go well. The Clerics publicly denounced the Inquisition to be a heretical movement, despite Myra's adamancy that they merely wished to close the Breach. The Templars stormed in and assaulted the Clerics and the Lord Seeker spat in their direction. Something about him made Myra uneasy. He did not look sane, and Cassandra seemed to think the same.

A few good things came out of their trip to Val Royeaux. They made contact with the leaders of both the Templar and Mage rebellions, and they recruited two new members of the Inquisition. Myra met Vivienne by invitation to her soiree. She found the whole affair absolutely fascinating: the masks, the elusive dialogue, hints of the Game that the nobles played. She'd have to ask Josephine and Leliana for stories.  
She met Sera under the cover of nightfall. Myra appreciated having a companion her age that could make her laugh. Sera was so light-hearted, if not a bit dense. She was a breath of fresh air Myra needed amongst all the doom-and-gloom.

The journey back from Val Royeaux was…interesting to say the least, due to the strange mixture of companions she'd accrued. Sera and Vivienne remained on opposite side of the campsite at all times, Sera often making faces at Vivienne when her back was turned. Vivienne didn't seem to like the idea of "camping," but she "tolerate"d it well enough. Sera got a real kick out of that one. "Tolerate"d.

However, Myra worried. Cassandra spent most of the night just staring into the campfire's depths, a melancholic air about her. After a few nights of this, Myra approached her, once the others had turned in for the night.

"Are you alright?" Myra asked. "You seem…"

"Upset? It is because I am," Cassandra confided, staring into the campfire's depths.

"Is this about the Lord Seeker?" she asked.

"Has he gone mad? Our encounter in Val Royeaux was so unlike him," Cassandra said.

"The Breach has caused many things to shift and change…People are scared, and sometimes that makes them act unreasonable or strange…unlike themselves…" Myra delicately placed her hand on Cassandra's shoulder. "Try not to dwell on it. We'll find out what happened."

"Do you truly mean that?" Cassandra said, her back still turned to the Inquisitor.

"Truly," Myra said.

Cassandra placed a hand over Myra's. "Thank you."

When they returned to Haven, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen already awaited their arrival in the Chantry. After the debriefing, Leliana pulled her aside.

"You may want to check on Fennec. I believe she caught word of the Val Royeaux conflict."

Myra sighed. "Of course, she did. Thank you, Leliana. I don't know what I'll do with her when I'm gone…Which reminds me…Cullen, Cassandra, and I wanted to try and find her parents. Fennec said herself that they're dead, but I'd like it confirmed. Thoughts on the best method?"

"I could have my scouts search for their bodies. They wouldn't have gone far without their daughter, and if they did," Leliana's gaze sharpened, "they don't deserve to have her."

"My thoughts exactly."

"I'll send word to the Hinterlands."

As soon as Myra left the Chantry, she was tackled.

"Oof!" She looked down to see a mess of curls burrowing into her legs.

"You were gone for so long," Fennec mumbled.

Myra brushed stray snowflakes from the child's head. "I'm sorry, my child. The journey was long."

Fennec looked up at her with watery eyes. "Why couldn't you take me with you?"

Myra crouched down and hugged her. "I feared what might happen."

"How do you think I felt?" Fennec cried.

"Hush," Myra said. "I'm here now."

Fennec nodded slowly before burying her head back into Myra's shoulders. Myra petted her hair and held her close.

* * *

The next morning found Myra and Fennec in line for their morning rations. As they filed in front of the Chantry, they saw Sisters and soldiers lifting pews and arranging them in the long hallway leading to the War Room. Cassandra and the advisors used the day for worship, so Myra had never actually seen the Chantry utilized as a…well…Chantry, before now.

Myra saw Fennec staring at the Sisters as they passed. Her conversation with Cullen before leaving for Val Royeaux disturbed her peace of mind like an incessant itch.

Finally, she asked. "Would you like to attend the service today?"

Fennec looked up at her excitedly, then averted her gaze downward. "If…that's okay…"

Myra hesitated. She caught sisters pointing towards her and whispering amongst themselves. But, for Fennec's sake, she pulled her close and smiled. "Of course it's okay. We'll attend the morning service, how does that sound?"

Fennec grinned. "That sounds great, Myra!"

They got their breakfast. Myra tried to make conversation, but Fennec scarfed down her breakfast at a rate the Herald had never seen! When they had finished, Fennec practically dragged her to the Chantry and found them an open seat near the back. Myra shifted uncomfortably as a human scooted next to her in the pews. Fennec looked up at her before going back to fiddle with her hands.

"My parents used to take me," she said quietly.

One of the elven servants nodded at Myra as she passed. She noticed the servant did not wear the vallaslin to honor the gods. Why would she? She believed in Andraste, or what these humans had venerated her to be, just as the Dalish venerated their own gods.

The pews filled quickly with the Maker's faithful.

"I've never seen so many people." Fennec awed.

Everyone joined in excerpts from the Chant at the beginning. Myra mumbled along awkwardly. A couple tardies squeezed into what few spots remained.

"I am surprised to see you here."

Myra jumped a bit at the Nevarran accent. Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast and Commander Cullen had squeezed into a spot beside Fennec.

"Fennec wanted company," Myra said. "Besides, I've never heard the Chant before."

"Your interest pleases me," Cassandra said.

"Hush," Cullen scolded them. "It's Mother Giselle."

The entire room quieted as the Mother took the podium.

She stood with a presence many would consider divine, and even Myra would admit there was a light about her, the same light that sometimes overcame the elders when they spoke of the Creators.

"Brothers and sisters, all children of the Maker," she began, "many have come to me troubled by the clerics' decision in Val Royeaux, and many have come to Haven's Chantry to seek comfort. Today, I hope to provide such comfort, and soften your hearts that have surely hardened."

Myra shifted back in her seat and crossed her arms. Cullen scoffed a bit, but Cassandra and Fennec listened intently.

"Let us not turn our heads from our brothers and sisters in Val Royeaux. Instead, let us remember that troubled times terrify us, and terrified people make terrible decisions. Act with love towards hate, for 'blessed are the peacekeepers, champions of the just.'"

The people gave their solemn agreement. They sang a few hymns, and while the Inquisition was by no means a choir, the spirit of worship reminded her of the stories taught to her as a child and made her feel more at home.

A few more sisters spoke between the hymns before the service ended. At the end, the sisters passed a bowl for tithes. Myra had never given tithes before. She felt strange at the thought of withholding her money, so she followed Cassandra and Cullen's leads and added a couple silvers. They looked to her and smiled a bit. Myra flushed and passed the bowl along quickly.

When the tithes had been collected, Mother Giselle thanked them and left them with the Maker's blessing.

Cullen and Cassandra stood up and started to leave. Fennec looked to Myra, who nodded after them. As the faithful exited the Chantry, everyone buzzed, talking about what they'd do on their rest day or what they thought of service.

"I liked it," Cassandra said. "It is hard to maintain a clear head when bureaucrats become involved."

"I'll agree with you there," Cullen said. He turned to Myra. "What did you think of the service?"

Myra twisted her betrothal ring, unsure if an honest answer was the best one.

"I understand if you didn't care much for it," Cullen said. "It's not for everyone."

"I liked it," Myra said. "It had a good spirit." She left out the part about it reminding her of Dalish story-telling.

"Does that mean you'll be joining me, erm, us…?" Cullen asked. Cassandra gave him a look Myra couldn't see.

The Herald looked down to Fennec. "What do you think, my child? Would you like to join the Seeker and Commander for Sunday services?"

Fennec nodded slowly. "If that's alright with you, Myra."

Myra petted her hair, smiling. "Of course."


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

* * *

"Warden Blackwall?"

Myra and her party approached the bearded man and the ragtag group of farm-boys.

An arrow flew through the air, nearly hitting Myra, but Blackwall blocked it with his shield.

"Either help or leave!" Blackwall called. "Conscripts, to arms!"

The bandits were a disorganized bunch and quick work for the Inquisition and the Warden's party combined. Myra already found herself admiring the strength with which the Warden carried himself with, his rugged charm, and his swordsmanship. He obviously had a lot of experience.

When the fighting had ceased, Blackwall dismissed his men. "Next time someone attacks you, I want you to stand and fight!" They thanked their commander and headed in the direction of Redcliffe farms.

"Refugees from the war's chaos, the lot of them," Blackwall said, sheathing his sword. "But you called for me? Who are you and what do you want?"

"We're part of the Inquisition; my name is Myra." She extended her dainty hand to the gruff man. He looked at it, arms crossed.

Myra smirked. "It's okay, I'll only bite if you ask."

Sera snickered in the back and Cassandra scoffed. She could feel Solas's gaze cut at her back.

Blackwall snorted and took her hand. As he began to give a firm shake, her Mark crackled. He jerked his hand away.

"Maker's Breath, you're the Herald!" He clenched and unclenched his hand that had touched the Mark. "I apologize for not recognizing you sooner. Things are a bit remote out here."

"No need to apologize. I wish more people failed to recognize me."

"Fair enough," Blackwall said. "What can I do for you, Herald?"

Cassandra cut in. "We were wondering if you knew about the disappearance of the Wardens."

"Well, that's what Wardens do, isn't it? Blight's over, they're no longer needed, they disappear, come back when the next Blight comes." He shrugged. "I'm afraid I can't offer much help. I haven't heard from the Wardens for quite some time now. I stay out here, recruiting."

"We worry their untimely disappearance may be connected to the death of the Divine," Cassandra said, her words heavy with implication.

Blackwall shook his head. "I can't imagine how the Wardens would be involved, but I'm still afraid I can't help you."

Cassandra sighed. Myra could hear Sera twang on her bowstring out of boredom. Solas observed quietly.

Finally, Myra spoke. "It's a shame you can't help us, I was hoping for more from you." She made a show of looking rather disappointed and fluttering her eyelashes prettily as she turned around and led her party back the way they came.

Only moments passed before she heard Blackwall's cry. "Herald!"

Myra smirked. She adjusted her expression, longing consuming her disposition as she looked back to Blackwall. He hurried over to the party.

"Thinking the Wardens are absent from this chaos is as bad as thinking we're involved. Allow me to aid the Inquisition."

Myra bit her lip, seeming to ponder for a moment, but her mind was already made up. "Warden Blackwall, welcome to the Inquisition."

* * *

"What'd you say your name was again?"

Myra turned to see Blackwall ride up beside her. They rode outside of the Hinterlands, having already met with the mages and recruiting Dorian. Blackwall slowed his horse to match pace with hers. She smiled at him.

"Myra."

"Myra," he repeated. "I have to say, Myra, you're not what I expected."

"A beautiful, charming young woman?" she said.

"Ah, that too." Blackwall rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean, I thought you'd be…human."

"Ah."

"It was foolish of me."

"I admire your honesty." Myra looked to him. "Better than 'knife-ear.'"

"Have people called you that?"

Myra groaned. "Elgar'nan, yes."

"Well, don't listen to them. They got nothing on a 'beautiful, charming,' capable young woman such as yourself."

"I never said capable."

"You didn't have to."

Myra giggled. She glanced back at the group to ensure they were still all together. Solas's face was expressionless.

Myra frowned. "Excuse me." She pulled the horse to a stop, falling to the back of the group next to Solas.

"Lethallin," she greeted. He didn't respond. Her frown returned. "Hah'ren?"

"Din'dirthera," Solas said. "We shall speak upon our return to Haven."

Myra reeled back a bit in her saddle. What had she done wrong? She wanted to ask but knew that would cross the boundary he'd established. "Ir abelas, hah'ren. We will speak back in Haven."

Solas nodded, refusing to grace her with a response. She rode forward a couple strides, settling alongside Dorian and Sera.

"Elfy's face couldn't get any scrunchier. Surprised he hasn't turned ya to a block of ice with those looks of his." Sera snorted. "Think he's jealous of Beardie over there?"

"Keep your voice _down_ , Sera. I don't need him angrier."

"But he's jealous, 'in'he?"

"Oh, undoubtedly," Dorian said. "He's practically leaking with envy."

Myra flushed. "I didn't mean to make him jealous. I was just being friendly."

Sera laughed. "If them pretty eyelash flutters are 'friendly' remind me to stay on your good side. Not that there's a side of you that isn't good."

"Sera!" Myra's flush deepened. The archer just laughed.

"See, it's all good fun, innit? If Elfy doesn't get that, that's his problem."

"I'd have to agree," Dorian said. "Furthermore, I'd say you should find a way to turn this to your advantage. Nothing like a bit of jealousy to spice the bedroom."

"True that," Sera said. "Could even get both of them in on that. Sure you'd like that."

Myra's face could not get any redder. She gave up trying to silence their merciless onslaught.

Three days passed. Solas still would not speak with her, but the rest of the group kept her company. Dorian tried to speak to Solas a few times about Arlathan and the ancient elves only to receive icy responses. He eventually gave up and simply asked Myra the questions, which she answered with folklore the best she could. They exchanged information regarding each others' heritages. Myra took quite an interest in his firsthand account of Tevinter, and he soaked up her every story regarding the Creators. Sera always scoffed at such stories and retired to her tent the second she started. Cassandra and Blackwall listened for entertainment's sake. Even Solas opened his tent's flaps to allow her stories entry.

When they returned to Haven, Solas still refused to speak with her. After helping to get Blackwall and Dorian settled in, she met with Cassandra and the Advisors in the War Room for a debriefing. After some thought, she decided solidifying an alliance with the mages would be the best course of action.

"Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults," Cullen said. "We don't have the man power to assault it directly. If you go in there, you'll die, and we'll lose the only means we have of closing these Rifts. I won't allow it."

"And if we don't even try to meet Alexius," Leliana said, "we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!"

"Even if we _could_ assault the keep, it would be for naught!" Josephine said. "An ' _Orlesian'_ Inquisition's army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied."

Cassandra clenched the table. "The magister—"

"—has outplayed us," Cullen finished.

Myra twisted her betrothal ring. She stared at the map for a long while, eyes fastened to the map where the marker over Redcliffe lay. Everyone waited for her to speak.

"We can't assault the castle directly…that much the Commander and Chief Diplomat have made clear…" She shook her head. "But there has to be another way. Do we have a map of Redcliffe? I'd like to take a closer look."

"I believe we do…" Josephine rifled through some of the books and found a Ferelden book of maps. She found the correct page and handed it to Myra. The Herald set it on the War Table and looked at it closely. A river separated Redcliffe Village from its castle, creating a natural barrier to ward off against assailants.

"There has to be another way in…" Myra murmured. "A sewer? A water course? Something…"

"There's nothing I know of that would work," Cullen leaned over the war table, tracing the map with his fingers.

"Wait," Leliana murmured.

Everyone looked to the Spymaster.

"There is a secret way into the Castle, an escape route for the family…" She pointed to a windmill that overlooked the Castle. "It's too narrow for our troops," she said, tracing the secret route across the map as if by memory, "but we could send agents through."

Cullen shook his head. "Too risky. Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister."

"That's why we need a distraction," Leliana said. "Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?"

"While they're focused on Lavellan, we break the magister's defenses." Cullen scratched the stubble under his neck. "It… _could_ work, but it's a huge risk."

Suddenly, the door burst open. "Fortunately, you'll have help." Dorian sauntered inside. Myra grinned.

"Your spies will never get past Alexius's magic without my help," he said. "So if you're going after him, I'm coming along."

Myra bowed her head a little. "Your assistance would be most welcome."

Dorian winked at her.

Cullen piped up. "The plan puts _you_ in the most danger, Herald. We can't, in good conscience, order you to do this."

"I know the risks, Commander. This is the course I want to take."

"Then it's settled," Cassandra said.

"I'll ready my agents," Leliana said.

The meeting adjourned.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

* * *

"Announce us."

The guards did not reply to Myra. Cassandra and Solas eyed them warily. Myra widened her posture.

"The Magister's invitation was for Mistress Lavellan and no one else," a man said as he walked down the steps of the hall. He motioned to Myra's companions. "You lot, wait here."

"I suppose the Magister will just have to come to us, then," Myra drawled. Her gaze sharpened. "If they can't enter, I won't either."

The man eyed the three of them. He clicked his tongue a couple times, then sighed. "This way."

He led them deeper into Redcliffe Castle. The guards followed behind them. Adrenaline rushed through Myra's veins. She could feel their hostility from behind their strange, horned masks; she sensed that this was enemy territory.

They came to the throne room where guards stood on either side of them, ready to defend their magister. Alexius sat on the throne, his son, Felix, at his side. He seemed relaxed. He knew he had the upperhand, or at least thought he did. Myra closed her eyes, hoping Dorian and Leliana's agents were disabling his trap effectively.

"My Lord, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived," the man said. He left them in the throne room. Myra's gaze turned to Alexius. She glanced to Felix, whose expression was polite, but his eyes were anxious. He gave the smallest nod to Myra, minute and undetectable to everyone but her. She remembered to breathe.

"My friend!" Alexius stood from his throne. "It's so good to see you again." He was armed, as were her companions. "And your…associates, of course." He smiled, no…smirked. "I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties."

Grand Enchanter Fiona stepped out of the shadows into the torchlight. "Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fates?"

"Fiona," Alexius scolded her as if she were a child. "You would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives."

 _As if she had a choice,_ Myra thought. "If the Grand Enchanter wants to be a part of these talks," she smiled at Fiona, "then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition."

Fiona smiled back and nodded deeply. "Thank you."

Alexius turned from them. Felix looked at him, then glanced at Myra, his expression worried. Myra maintained a cool composure. The fireplace behind the throne crackled ominously, and the room felt cold.

Alexius sat in his throne. "The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them." He rested his chin in his hand. "So, what shall you offer in exchange?"

Myra smirked a bit. "Before we get to that, I wanted to discuss something, if you don't mind."

Alexius's expression remained pleasant. "Of course, certainly."

Myra began to pace, taking the stage. "When I came to Redcliffe to meet with the Grand Enchanter, I saw something fascinating outside the gates."

"Oh?" Alexius feigned interest.

"Yes, a magic that distorted time itself."

"How curious." He shifted in his seat.

"My thoughts exactly. Personally, I'd never heard of such a magic existing, have you, Grand Enchanter?"

Fiona shook her head. "No, not since—" She cut herself short.

"Yes, Fiona?" Myra gave her a look. _Play along. We are safe._

"Not since…the magister arrived."

Alexius's gaze narrowed. "What are you insinuating?"

Felix piped up. His voice was quiet but still echoed through the room. "She knows everything, father."

Alexius's gaze shot to his son. "Felix, what have you done?"

"We made sure to disarm your trap before we came in," Myra gave an innocent smile. "I hope you don't mind."

"I have yet to see your cleverness." Alexius grunted as he stood up. "You walk into _my_ stronghold with your _stolen_ mark—a gift you don't even understand—and think you're in control?" He pointed an accusatory finger at her. The Venatori guards stirred, they were preparing.

"You're nothing but a mistake," Alexius said.

"Who killed the Divine?" Myra called.

"It was the Elder One's moment, and you were unworthy even to stand in his presence."

"Father, listen to yourself." Felix placed a hand on his shoulder that Alexius shrugged off. "Do you know what you sound like?"

"He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be." Dorian sauntered in from the shadows. The guards drew their swords, but Alexius signaled them to stand down.

"Dorian, I gave you a chance to be a part of this. You turned me down. The Elder One has power you wouldn't believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes…"

"Who is the Elder One?" Myra said. Dorian stepped in front of her. His hands twitched. He was ready to fight.

"Soon, he will become a god," Alexius said. "He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule form the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas."

Fiona snarled. "You can't involve my people in this!"

"Alexius," Dorian stepped towards him. "This is exactly what you and I talked about _never_ wanting to happen! Why would you support this?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Myra saw a Ventori guard fall to an arrow in his chest. Alexius turned away, unaware, ashamed.

"Stop it, father," Felix begged. "Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach, and let's go home."

"No! It's the only way, Felix. He can _save_ you."

" _Save_ me?"

"There _is_ a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake at the Temple…"

"I'm going to die. You need to accept that."

"Seize them, Venatori. The Elder One demands this woman's life!"

The smell of blood filled the air as the Inquisition agents cut the Venatori guards' throats all-at-once. The Inquisition agents took the places of the Venatori.

Myra smirked, taking a step forward. "Your men are dead, Alexius." But Dorian held her back from fully approaching him . His hand was on his staff.

"You…are a mistake!" Alexius hissed. Something was in his hand: an amulet. "You never should have existed!"

The amulet shone a bright blue as he channeled his magic through. Myra could feel a massive shift in energy, the amulet as a focus.

"No!" Dorian cried. He shot Alexius with his staff. The magister flew backwards, but it was too late. The Rift had already opened, but this one felt different, felt _strange._

The Rift pulled her in. Solas and Cassandra screamed her name. She felt herself being stretched and warped, morphed into a shape that would make her fit. Fit how? Fit where? No, fit _when_.

When Myra dropped out of the Rift, she fell into water.

"Blood of the Elder One!"

She looked over and saw Venatori guards rushing after her, their swords drawn. To her left, Dorian gave his head a good shake before stumbling up. Finding her footing, wobbly, but functional, a rush of adrenaline carried her through the fight until the guards had fallen in defeat.

With a breath of reprieve, Myra could finally look around. Water flooded the dungeon from the ceiling. Wooden barrels floated in the knee-deep pool. Red lyrium jutted out of the walls. Massive, massive crystals of red lyrium.

"Displacement, interesting." Myra turned to see Dorian's hand on his chin. "It's probably not what Alexius intended. The Rift must have moved us…to what? The closest confluence of arcane energy?"

Myra shook her head. "From what I can tell, we're still in the castle."

"Let's see," Dorian crouched down, studying some papers on the ground. "If we're still in the castle, it isn't…oh!" He slapped his forehead. "Of course! It's not simply where—it's _when_!" He shot up, but stumbled a bit. Myra helped him maintain his balance.

"Alexius used the amulet as a focus," Myra said.

"And it moved us through time," Dorian said.

"Forward? Backwards? How far?" Myra's head spun. She knew Alexius worked on wildly unstable magic that disrupted the natural flow of time, but to achieve time travel itself!

"Those are _excellent_ questions." Dorian clapped her on the back. "We'll have to find out, won't we?" His expression turned somber. He waded ahead through the water to the guards' corpses and grabbed something from one of them. Looking back to Myra, he jingled the key out of the dungeon. "Let's look around, see where the Rift took us. Then we can figure out how to get back…if we can."

"Let's try and find the others," Myra said.

They began exploring the castle, making their way up through the dungeons. All the prisoners they came across seemed to have lost their minds, their voices distorted, glowing an eerie red color, as bright as the red lyrium consuming the castle. It all put Myra on edge, but not as much as the haunting recitation of the Chant coming from behind the closed door before them.

"The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next."

Myra opened the door. Another room full of cells. Cassandra sat in the one closest to the door. She did not notice them at first, rocking back and forth, continuing to recite the Chant.

"For She who trusts in the Maker, Fire is Her water."

Dorian pulled out the key and began to unlock the door.

Cassandra gasped. "You've returned to us!" She shot up, but stumbled, catching herself on the walls of her cell. "Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?"

"Who is it, Cassandra?" A distorted, but familiar voice called.

"The Herald! The Herald of Andraste has returned to us!"

"Shhh, keep your voices down," Myra murmured.

"Vhenan, dar'lath da'len! ( _Heart, beloved child!)_ "

As Dorian finished freeing Cassandra, Myra took the key and headed to Solas's cell. He already stood, his hands wrapped around the bars, his forehead resting between them.

"Ma tel'glandival inan. _(I do not believe my eyes.)_ " He reached through the bars and caressed her face. "We saw you die!"

"The spell Alexius cast displaced us in time. We just got here, so to speak," Dorian said. He and Cassandra approached.

Myra opened the cell door. Solas bolted from his imprisonment and swept her into his arms. He dipped her low as he kissed her with a passion she had never felt before. It was fueled by desperation and hope. In her confusion, Myra did nothing. He ended the kiss and held her close. "Forgive me…absence fosters fondness."

"Are you going to tell her, Solas?" Cassandra said, the hint of a smile on her face.

"Perhaps it is inappropriate…"

"What does your heart tell you?"

Myra watched the exchange, her confusion growing as Solas caressed her cheek and gently guided her gaze back to him. "Ar lath ma. It has been a year of waiting, and that is all I wanted to tell you."

"A year?" Dorian cried.

"Harvestmere, 9:42 Dragon," Cassandra said.

Myra gently grabbed Solas's hand and lowered it from its caress. "Solas, ir abelas. I don't know what to say. It's been minutes since you wouldn't even speak to me."

"A childish ploy, one I would dare not repeat." Solas looked down and frowned. "Ir abelas, vhenan, for any pain I caused you."

"He's been praying for this chance." Cassandra sighed happily. "I have too."

Myra kissed his hand. "Ma serraanas, lethallin."

He smiled for a moment. Then, his expression turned serious. "If the spell Alexius cast displaced you in time, can you reverse the process?"

"An army of demons swept across Thedas," Cassandra said. "Led by the Elder One himself. Empress Celene was murdered, throwing Orlais into chaos."

"We can obviate these events. It might not be too late!"

Cassandra tossed Solas his staff. She refitted her armor over herself. She had to tighten the buckles several notches, her form frail compared to what it used to be. Solas's hands shook as he held his weapon.

"You two look…bad." Myra channeled healing magic to her hands. "Is there anything I can do?"

"There is nothing," Cassandra said.

"We are dying, but no matter," Solas lowered her hands.

They heard shouting above them and the heavy footsteps of armed guards.

"They must be here somewhere!"

"Find them!"

"Quickly," Solas pulled Myra out the door. The others followed. "I heard the guards saying Alexius barricaded himself in the throne room. If you can undo this, they all can be saved!"

They fought their way through the castle, through guards and demons alike. The Veil was so fractured that Rifts spawned everywhere, leading to a slow crawl through the fortress. If it was difficult for them, she couldn't imagine what life was like for those with less combat training than her and her companions. The world truly seemed to be falling apart after a mere year of her absence, a thought that frightened her. _As if enough didn't rest on my shoulders already_. Red lyrium growing out of the walls and infecting people, an army of demons that ravaged the land, Empress Celene murdered and Orlais thrown into chaos? The consequences of failing terrified her.

They could hear Leliana's screams as they tortured her on the floor above. Myra waited outside the door, trying to bide her time for any useful information, but Leliana's screaming became too much for her heart to handle. She kicked down the door and readied her staff, but Leliana used the distraction to wrap her legs around the guard and suffocate him.

"I'm so sorry, Leliana." She searched the guard for a key and freed her from her chains. Myra barely recognized the Spymaster, her face wrinkled and eyes heavy from a year of torture. "You're safe now."

"Forget 'safe.' If you came back from the dead, you need to do better than 'safe.'" She shoved past Myra and Dorian, grabbing her weapons from a cache on the other side of the room. Myra felt her heart sink. The reality of the situation overcame her…guilt bubbled in her stomach.

"You…aren't curious how we got here?" Dorian asked.

"No," Leliana said.

"Alexius sent us into the future. This, his victory, his Elder One—it was never meant to be."

"Leliana, I'm so sorry for what you and everyone have suffered," Myra said. "I will do everything in my power to fix—"

"And mages always wonder why people fear them…No one should have this power."

"Leliana…" Myra stepped towards her.

Leliana pointed a finger at her. "Enough. You all think this is some pretend future that will never happen, but it was real. I suffered. The whole world suffered." She turned her back. "Alexius will suffer as we have."

"If we find Alexius, we can reverse the spell," Dorian added, but Leliana did not seem to care, fastening her quiver to her back with cold determination.

"Let's go," she said. She led them out the door. Myra's only held gaze with the floor as they journeyed deeper into the castle.

They found Alexius in the throne room, holding a strange creature on a leash. Leliana grabbed the creature and threatened to kill it, and Alexius's distress signaled to Myra this is what Felix had become. When Leliana killed the creature that was Felix, Alexius became enraged and tried to kill Myra and her party. Despite his use of Rift magic, Myra and her party managed to defeat him quickly.

The castle walls shook upon Alexius's defeat as the Elder One's armies drew near.

"I need an hour to figure out Alexius's spell," Dorian said.

"We'll hold the outer door," Solas said. "When they get past us, it will be your turn."

"No!" Myra ran to Cassandra and Solas, blocking the door. "I can't let you kill yourselves for me, there must be another way."

"Look at us," Leliana said, pushing her aside. "We're already dead." She turned to Cassandra and Solas who both nodded and left. Leliana stationed herself in front of the door. "You have as much time as I have arrows."

An hour passed. Myra acted as Dorian's springboard as he finicked and finagled with this and that idea until he finally found a spell that worked. He and Myra combined their magics to reverse the spell Alexius had cast. The portal began to form before them. At that moment, an ogre kicked down the door. It threw Cassandra's and Solas's corpses inside, their eyes dull and lifeless. Leliana began her onslaught.

"Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame. Andraste guide me. Maker, take me to your side."

A Ventori soldier stabbed Leliana. She smacked him with her bow then kneed another one in the stomach. A demon grabbed her by the throat. An archer shot her with arrows.

Myra moved to defend her, but Dorian held her back. "You move, and we all die!" She allowed herself to be pulled back to the portal, watching in horror as her Spymaster, the same Spymaster that treated her to bottles of wine her first week in Haven, fell before her eyes.

Dorian pulled her through the portal. They stepped through.

Before them stood the throne room, just as they'd left it. Cassandra and Solas stood with amazement as they stepped back out through a portal.

"You'll have to do better than that," Dorian said with a smirk.

Alexius sunk to his knees.

Myra smacked him with the end of her staff. As he fell to the ground, groaning in pain, Myra spat on him and headed out past the guards. "I've seen the future, and I won't let that happen. You're done here."

The Inquisition soldiers saluted her as she passed.

* * *

"Lethallan?" Myra stood outside Solas's tent. When there was no response, she poked her head in to see if he was there. He laid in his cot, his eyes opened as though she'd just awoken him. "Forgive me…may I have a moment?"

"If you must."

Myra heard the fire crackle outside. Cassandra's sharpened her sword in even strokes. Dorian turned the pages of his book. As she crept inside the tent, she couldn't help but feel unwelcome. "Just…I was hoping…"

Solas sighed and did not look at her.

"I needed…"

He said nothing.

Myra's heart sank. "Why won't you even look at me?"

"You have Warden Blackwall for such trivialities."

Cassandra's sword sharpening stopped. The fire hissed in hunger. Dorian cursed and fed the flames.

Myra's face burned. " _Really?_ That's what this is about?" Her words fumbled in her mouth, tongue twisted in anger. "He's not even—"

"Out."

"What?"

"Leave at once!"

Myra left the tent, cursing his name under her breath. She kicked woodchips into the fire, much to Dorian's distaste, before settling down onto a stump, fuming. A lump formed in her throat. Cassandra and Dorian pointedly feigned ignorance, but Myra knew they knew. The air was thick with tension.

She stood up suddenly and stared into the fire for long moments. Cassandra sharpened her sword. The campfire crackled. Their horses whinnied. None of them cared, none of them fucking cared that her world was crumbling beneath her.

"I heard the yelling," Cassandra finally said. Myra looked behind her, eyes welling up. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it was too large. Her gaze turned upward to the starry sky.

"Please don't tell me you're going to cry." Dorian looked up from his book. "Maker's Breath, you're going to cry, aren't you?"

He sounded just like her Keeper. She bit her lip hard trying to retain what little dignity she had left.

"Quiet," Cassandra scolded Dorian. "Your glibness does you no credit."

"Your hothead does as little for you," Dorian scoffed.

Cassandra rolled her eyes, then turned to Myra. "Walk with me?"

Myra nodded and followed her into the woods.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER NINE**

* * *

When Myra returned from Redcliffe, Solas immediately went to his cabin. Myra watched him leave and sighed.

"Come," Cassandra said. "We should debrief the others."

* * *

"Drink?"

Myra turned to see Dorian hadn't left the Chantry after the debriefing. His usual flamboyancy and playfulness were replaced by a somber sincerity.

He twiddled his moustache. "I think we both need one."

Myra smiled a bit. "I think I could use a drink…or three."

Dorian chuckled. "I like the way you think. Let's drink ourselves into a stupor, shall we?"

They headed into the tavern. Dorian ordered their drinks, starting them off with some Antivan Sip-sip.

They made small-talk about this and that, discussing their preferred branches of magic and how their talents affected their lives. For Myra, it meant becoming First to the Keeper and taking on all the responsibilities it entailed. For Dorian, it meant security in the Imperium's hierarchy and gaining an apprenticeship under Alexius.

"Did you travel?" Myra asked.

"To other parts of the Imperium, but I'm guessing you mean outside of Tevinter." He took a shot of whiskey and immediately signaled for another. "In which case, no, coming here is my first time journeying outside of the Imperium."

Myra took her shot. Dorian signaled another for her.

"What about you?"

"This is my first time outside the Free Marches. My clan stayed outside of Wycome my entire life."

"So it seems we're both strangers in a strange land."

Myra laughed. "I suppose so."

"Mind if I join you?"

Dorian and Myra turned to see Blackwall standing beside their tables. Myra looked to Dorian, who smirked. "I have a better idea. You can take my seat while I find some light reading."

"You're leaving me?" Myra cried.

"Oh, darling, you sound positively distressed. As much as I enjoy the company of an elven maiden who's _almost_ as charming as myself, I would hate to be a third wheel in this carriage ride."

Myra flushed wildly and Blackwall choked on his ale.

Dorian scoffed. "Oh come now, you both can do better than that. At least, I'd hope so." Dorian clicked his tongue, then snapped his fingers. "Idea, be back." He hurried to the bar, having remarkably good balance for how much he and Myra had drank.

He came back and slammed a bottle on the table. "Grey Whiskey for the woodsy Warden-elfy couple." He saluted. "Enjoy."

Myra frowned. "I still can't believe you're leaving."

"Oh, Lady Lavellan, with all I'll hear about your night of debauchery following this bottle I so kindly provided, will it be like I ever left?"

"That didn't make any sense!"

"Exactly!" He made to leave.

"Wait!" Myra called after him. "Take care of Fennec for me? She's in my cabin."

"Remove Fennec from your cabin, got it."

"That's not what I said!"

He waved goodbye.

Myra looked to Blackwall who looked back at her, then looked away slowly. Myra quickly averted her gaze. The tavern was pretty full that night, with plenty of soldiers there to ease off the burdens of training. Myra watched the soldiers around her as she and Blackwall sat in awkward silence for a bit.

"He seems alright for a Vint," the Warden finally spoke. "Slippery though."

"I like him," Myra said. "He's funny."

"He's certainly something."

Another awkward silence…

…

…

"We should drink," Myra said. "That bottle won't finish itself."

"Fair enough." Blackwall popped off the cork.

"But," Myra pushed both shot-glasses towards him. "Since I've already been drinking, you have to take two shots for every one I take."

Blackwall chuckled a bit and began to fill the glasses. "As you wish."

Myra bit her lip, smirking. "So obedient."

He took both of his shots before filling a glass for her. Playfully, she pushed the shot back to him and gave him an expectant look.

Shaking his head, he took the shot. "I aim to please." He poured another shot and passed it to her. This time, she gulped it down.

"So, where are you from?"

"Free Marches, originally."

"Me too," Myra perked up. "What part? Well, actually, I suppose there's no point in asking. I don't know anything outside of Wycome."

He took two shots. "Is that where you're from?"

"My clan's from there." She took one. "Elgar'nan, this is strong."

Blackwall took another two shots. "This night will either end wonderfully or terribly."

"Or both."

He passed her a shot. She wanted to wait a bit before drinking anymore, but looking at the bottle, she saw they'd barely made a dent.

Blackwall chuckled. "We still have a ways to go."

They drank some more, progressively growing drunker and drunker.

"How was Redcliffe?" Blackwall asked. "You recruit the mages? Well done, my lady."

Myra banged her hand on the table. "Elgar'nan, finally some support."

Blackwall tugged at his beard. "There will always be people who disagree with your actions."

"What do you do?" Myra asked. "I can't please everyone."

"I'll tell you what you do." Blackwall leaned in close. "You stand by the right ones and admit to your mistakes."

"I'm almost completely sure I made the right decision."

"Well, stand by it then!"

"Will you stand with me?" Myra asked. "It's lonely to stand alone."

"Even if the whole world stood against you," Blackwall said.

Myra bit her lip, cheeks flushing. "Mmm, I like that."

"What?" Blackwall blinked slowly.

"Your passion." Myra leaned in closer to him. The noise around them seemed to drone out into the background as she stared into Blackwall's eyes.

He leaned closer himself, murmuring in her ear. "Do you now?"

"I do."

He kissed her neck and she hummed in pleasure, cheeks flushing bright red. Suddenly, he shook his head, pulling back. "You're a fine lady, Herald. I wish I could be the man you deserve."

Myra caressed his cheek and looked him in the eye. "I think I'll decide what I deserve."

And she kissed him.

* * *

Blackwall closed the door to Myra's cabin behind them. Myra leaned forward and fell into him. He lost his balance and they both tumbled backwards into the door, but neither of them cared. Myra leaned in and started kissing him, giggling. Blackwall growled and buried his face in her neck, biting and sucking. Myra moaned and pulled his hair, which only encouraged him.

"Are you sure about this?"

Myra kept kissing him. She began untying his tunic.

* * *

That night, after Blackwall had fallen asleep, Myra cried to herself. "Elgar'nan, what have I done?" In the shadows of the room, she saw red lyrium jutting from the walls. In the winds howl, she heard Cassandra's haunting Chant. She smelled the campfire as Solas had ignored her. She felt Blackwall's hands touch her.

These all continued to haunt her, even when she finally slipped into the Fade.

* * *

"Morning," Blackwall said.

Myra groaned and tossed the covers back over her head. "The light hurts."

Blackwall sighed. "Trust me, I understand. We both had too much."

"I blame Dorian." Myra's voice was muffled by the bed sheets.

"That man needs to learn a thing or two about limits." Blackwall gently lifted the sheets off of Myra's face and extended a hand. Myra took it, grasping the sheets around her body as Blackwall helped her out of bed.

She flushed. "Can you…pass me my clothes?"

"Erm, yes, of course." Blackwall looked around the room. Myra noticed Fennec was nowhere to be seen.

"Here you are," Blackwall handed her a pile of clothes. "I'm afraid I couldn't find all of them…Vaguely recall tossing your smallclothes somewhere..."

Myra did not meet his gaze. "Thank you…Could you…turn around?"

"If you prefer, I'll wait outside."

"Yes, thank you, Warden."

Myra finished dressing and wrapped her ring-velvet cloak around her trembling form. The mountain air was as cold as her insides. She knew she needed to find Fennec and figure out what she'd say when Solas found out.

"Vhenan," he'd called her in the future of what if's. His heart. "All this time, longing for what could have been…" He had… _kissed_ her…She touched her lips, flushing.

She worked her black curls into a tight bun and headed outside. Blackwall stood outside her door, hands behind his back.

"Ready?"

Myra furrowed her brow. "Pardon?"

"Oh, I…suppose I forgot to tell you." Blackwall tugged at his beard awkwardly. "I wanted us to get some breakfast. It's sure to help with the hangover. But, I suppose we don't have to go together, if you'd rather eat some other time, or alone, or just without…me…"

Myra gave a small smile. Seemed someone had gotten attached. "Blackwall, I—"

"Herald." Leliana motioned her to her tent.

Myra sighed. "Save me a seat?"

A smile brightened Blackwall's normally depressed features. "Gladly."

The Warden left for the tavern while Myra entered Leliana's tent to see what she wanted. She passed one of the Spymaster's agents on the way inside, who nodded a greeting.

When she entered, Leliana smiled cryptically. "I hear you and Blackwall shared a bed last night."

Myra felt her guard rise. "I'm sure you hear many things, Spymaster."

Her smile widened. "There is no need to be so evasive, my lady. I merely wished to commend your ability to charm them so quickly. That's the second, no? You'd make a fine bard." Her eyes shone with cunning. "No matter, I was curious if you obtained any useful information on our mysterious Warden and apostate."

Myra smiled a bit, but her smile was coy. "Much can be learned from pillow-talk."

Leliana reflected her expression. "Well, if you happen to recall anything useful."

"Thank you, Leliana. I'll consider it." Myra started to leave the tent when the thought struck her. "Do you happen to know where Fennec is?"

"I believe she left Dorian's care to stay with Solas for the night."

Myra felt the color drain from her face. "Yes…well thank you."

"Herald, might I offer some advice?"

"Please," Myra said.

"In the Game, just like Wicked Grace, you never show your cards." Her eyes flashed with mischief. "Let him pursue you and never know he's being pursued. The less you present, the more weight added to your presence." She smiled. "Now go get some breakfast. I can feel your headache from over here. I've heard some tea brewed with Prophet's Laurel is a good remedy."

Myra smiled. "Thank you, Leliana."

As Myra walked to pick up Fennec from Solas's, anxiety clawed at her insides. If Fennec was with Solas, that meant he knew she had slept with another. It wasn't like they were betrothed, they had only known each other for a little over two months, but worry still nagged her. What would he think of her?

When she knocked on Solas's door, she heard Fennec cry out.

"Solas!"

"I heard, da'len."

He opened the door, his expression sullen and only becoming angry upon seeing Myra standing in his doorway. Fennec peeked out behind his legs.

"Fennec," Myra crouched down. Fennec hesitated. Myra felt her face drop. Fennec saw her sadness. She wormed her way past Solas and ran into her arms.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. And don't say it is, when it isn't. You don't need to pretend with me." Myra kissed her head.

"Okay…" Fennec kicked her in the shin.

"Ow!" Myra fell back into the snow, rubbing her shin, more out of shock than anything.

"You left me alone with the drunkard!" Fennec cried.

"Fennec, I'm sorry."

"And I couldn't go to you, I had to go to Solas."

"I know, it was wrong of me, sweetheart. Please…"

Fennec pouted and crossed her arms. "Are you really sorry?"

"I swear on my parents' graves, Fennec."

Fennec gave a huge sigh and then tackled Myra with a hug.

"Have you eaten breakfast, little one?"

"No, I wanted to wait for you."

"Well, you remember Warden Blackwall, right?"

Fennec nodded.

"Good, he's in the tavern saving seats. Go find him, please. I'll be along shortly."

Fennec looked suspiciously at her. "You're not going to leave me again, are you?"

"I'll be right there, after I talk to Solas."

"There is no need," Solas said retreating into his cabin, but he left the door slightly ajar.

Myra sighed. "Go Fennec, please. I'll be right there."

Fennec gave her one last squeeze. "Good luck, he's angry." Before she disappeared to the tavern.

Myra took a deep breath. This conversation was going to be anything but pleasant. She mentally steeled herself before she opened the door. Solas lay in his bed, arms crossed and gaze towards the window, but Myra could see in the glass's reflection that he looked downright agitated.

"Look, I know you're angry. You have every right to be angry. The flirting was just to warm him up to me, but this…this is serious."

"How serious a travesty is this, truly? A simple miscalculation on my part. Now that you've made your feelings clear—"

"No, I haven't. And you haven't either."

Solas's frown deepened. "My demeanor should speak well enough."

"Listen." Myra said, slowly approaching the bed. She knelt beside it and grabbed his hand, gently unfolding his fist into a cool caress on her cheek. "Just listen."

Solas did not protest. He afforded her a sideways gaze.

"I saw something in the possible future—"

"In this supposed time travel," Solas corrected her.

Myra sighed. "Yes. You…when we rescued you from prison…you…you said…" Myra took a deep breath. She could see Solas listening intently. "You apologized for how you acted, said you spent all those days regretting never telling me how you truly felt. 'Ar lath ma, vhenan,' you said. 'Absence fosters fondness.' And then you…" Myra blushed. "Kissed me…"

"Why did he share your bed?" Solas asked.

"Because I was drunk and scared and a warm body brought me comfort."

Suddenly, he turned to her, grabbing her shoulders. "Never again." He glowered with a force that made Myra want to obey. "Next time, you come to me. Do you understand, da'len?"

Myra bit her lip and turned her gaze downward. "Yes, hah'ren."

* * *

When Myra entered the tavern, she searched the occupants for the table the Warden had saved. She found Blackwall and Fennec sitting at the far end. When she approached, Blackwall stood up quickly, jostling the table.

"Sit down," Myra said, a little snippy.

"Sorry." Blackwall returned to his seat. He cleared his throat. "I didn't know what you wanted, but if you know, I can—"

"That won't be necessary, thank you."

Fennec swallowed a mouthful of food. "Did you talk to Solas?"

"I did." Myra leaned down and kissed her head.

"Was he angry?"

"By the Dread Wolf," Myra heaved a sigh. "Yes…"

"Is he still angry?"

Myra saw the fear in the child's eyes despite her attempts to mask it by eating her flapjacks. She petted the child's head. "No, darling, he's not angry anymore."

Blackwall looked after her as she left to get her food but said nothing until she returned.

"I hadn't realized you went to speak with the elf," he said.

Myra ate in silence. Fennec looked between the two uncomfortably, but followed Myra's lead, shoveling food into her mouth.

"Is there something between you two?"

Myra set down her fork. She chewed slowly. What was she to say to that? Was there something between her and Solas? He certainly made it seems so, she certainly felt so, and if that possible future she saw in Redcliffe was anything to judge by…

"Perhaps," she finally said.

"Perhaps," Blackwall repeated. He sighed heavily. Myra's heart sunk. Her stomach bubbled with guilt. _Elgar'nan_ …

"So," he said. He glanced at Fennec, then looked to Myra meaningfully. "Last night…?"

"Won't happen again." She frowned, a fraction of a reflection of Blackwall's depressed features. "I'm sorry, Blackwall."

He finished his food and pushed his chair out. "Understood. It's probably for the best." He gave a smile…one that seemed forced. "Thank you, anyways. It was nice while it lasted."

He left his plate of food half-finished and left the tavern. Myra looked after him and felt her heart plummet to her stomach.

 _Did I make the right choice?_

She supposed there was really no way to tell. It was then she heard the bells of the Chantry ringing. Fennec reached for her hand and held it in hers.

Myra looked to her and forced a smile. "Come, Fennec, we'll be late to morning service."

* * *

"As the Inquisition grows, let us remember that we are _all_ children of the Maker. Let us welcome our newest allies with open arms," Mother Giselle said. "I sense tension surrounding the mages and many have come to me asking for comfort, seeking guidance. Brothers and sisters, let us remember the Canticle of Transfigurations: 'Magic exists to serve man.' Allow it to serve you, and ponder how you might give back in return."

Myra shifted a bit in her seat and put her arm around Fennec. She accidentally brushed Cullen's arm on the back of the pews. She mouthed 'Sorry,' to him but he shook his head and took his arm down. Fennec listened attentively to Mother Giselle.

"Let us recall that Andraste herself delivered a mage to us in our darkest hour to help seal the Breach," the Mother continued. "And she has welcomed others with the Gift to join us."

"I wasn't saved by Andraste," Myra murmured.

Cassandra shushed her.

When the service ended, they walked out together.

"A rather radical sermon," Cullen grumbled. "One that many of the Chantry would not agree with."

"There are those who do," Cassandra said.

"I like the Mother's talks," Fennec said. She ran a bit and jumped into the snow, crunching two tiny holes under her feet. "They make me happy."

"I like them too, child." Myra smirked at the Seeker. "Though, I'd like them more if Cassandra didn't shush me."

She scoffed. "It's a sermon, not a discussion." Then, she shook her head, looking down to the ground. "Do you truly believe you were not saved?"

"Saved?" Myra surreptitiously patted a snowball in her hands. "Certainly."

"But not by Andraste?"

Myra could sense that a fully honest answer would not be the best one. Cassandra had dedicated her life to the Chantry and had helped to create this army of the faithful. So, Myra merely threw her snowball at Fennec, then shrugged. "I don't remember. I can't say anything for certain."

"You're avoiding the question."

"And you're pressing me for an answer." Myra saw Fennec's incoming snowball and dodged behind Cullen, who got lobbed in the face.

He coughed and sputtered, wiping the snow from his face, though flakes still stuck in his hair and eyelashes. "Let it go, Cassandra," Cullen said. He ducked down to roll a snowball and Myra used the opportunity to throw one at Fennec, who flattened herself into the snow and crawled behind the Requisition's Table.

The Seeker looked to the lot of them, then scoffed. "Such children." She could barely finish the sentence before the Commander landed a hit clear in her stomach. She yelped, then snarled. Cullen snickered from the other side of the Chantry, taking cover behind the walls. Cassandra ducked behind the Chanter's board and started rolling her own arsenal.

Meanwhile, Myra had already hidden herself in Leliana's tent. She put a finger over her mouth, signaling to Leliana and the scout within to keep quiet. She reached out from the cover of the tent to gather some snow and started crafting her ammunition.

"I do have to say, Herald," Cullen shouted, "for someone who doesn't seem to believe in the Maker, I'm surprised you came back for a second service."

 _And you just gave away your position_. She waited for the Commander to reach for more snow before launching a snowball in his direction. He cursed.

"Why not?" she shouted back. "Fennec enjoys it, and Mother Giselle is a good speaker." She shrugged. "Besides, as 'Herald of Andraste' I might as well learn a thing or two about what I represent."

Suddenly, she felt an onslaught of ice and snow roll down the inside of her clothes. She shrieked and leapt out of the tent, only to be pelted by an onslaught of snowballs. She covered her face and ran as Fennec laughed up a storm behind her. She slipped on some ice and fell, face first, onto the path to the Chantry.

"Ooooh, that's not fair!" she cried, rolling on the ground. Fennec doubled over laughing and Cassandra and Cullen high-fived.

"Dirthara-ma _(May you learn)_ ," Myra spat.

"Oh come on, Herald, take a joke," Cullen said, laughing.

"I'll take a joke when I'm not wet and freezing!" Myra glared at him. "Or maybe I should shove some snow in the back of your shirt?"

"I'd like to see you try," Cullen said.

Myra shot up, grabbing a handful of snow and ran after him. He bolted down the path, past the tavern, cracking up laughing.

He ran past Solas, dodging around him. She followed his lead.

"Ir abelas!" She shouted back. "Gotta shove snow down his back!"

Solas sighed.

Myra followed Cullen around Haven, lapping past the Chantry three times before finally doubling over, panting hard. _By the Dread Wolf, this bastard has some stamina._ Sweat dripped from her face into the snow below and she held up her hand. "Alright, alright, enough. You win."

"That's what I thought," Cullen said, a haughty smirk on his face. He approached her to solidify the surrender.

Quickly, Myra grabbed a handful of snow. She flung it in his face then made a feeble attempt to run away.

"Oh no you don't!" He tackled her quickly, launching them both into a pile of snow off the path.

Myra groaned, feeling the wet cold surround her. It seeped into her clothes and chilled her to the bone. Cullen's weight pressed atop her, and the buff Commander felt even heavier when she was exhausted and pressed into a pile of snow. He laughed, sitting up on top of her.

"Given up?"

Myra tossed snow in his face and he returned the onslaught.

"The Herald of Andraste will never surrender!" Myra cried.

Finally, Cullen grabbed both of her arms and pinned them over her head. "What? I couldn't hear you. What's that about surrendering?"

"I hope the Dread Wolf eats you in a single bite," Myra said.

But Cullen…didn't respond… He just stared at her. Myra didn't understand at first, then she flushed, realizing the rather compromising position he had put her in. His hands held her wrists firmly as he straddled her in their little snow pile that hid the rest of Haven from Myra's sight. The only thing she could see was Cullen's face, so close to hers that she could see how stress had lined his brow and wrinkled the corners of his lips. His eyes seemed tired, as though he hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in a long time, but his hazel gaze sparked when it met hers. Myra felt herself flush.

Then, Solas's word echoed in her mind. _Never again. Next time, you come to me._

She frowned and looked away, guilt bubbling inside her. She felt Cullen's grip on her loosen, the he sat up quickly.

"S-sorry." He cleared his throat and outstretched a hand. She took it, but let go quickly.

"It's alright, it was my fault." Myra twisted her betrothal ring, looking at the ground. "Excuse me," she said, pushing him away gently. She found Fennec talking animatedly with Cassandra about something Myra was suddenly too tired to comprehend. She petted Fennec's hair as she passed before her feet found their way to Solas's cabin, but for some reason, the usual excitement before seeing him did not fill her.

Instead, she was filled with dread.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER TEN**

* * *

The frosty wind cut through Myra's clothes as she stood outside Solas's cabin with him. She pulled her cloak around her tighter, fighting the shivers as they discussed tomorrow's plans.

"The mages will channel their power through you, while you act as the focus…"

In the middle of Solas's explanation, Myra felt a clap on her back. She jumped a bit.

"Big day tomorrow." Dorian hung an arm around Myra's neck. "Perfect time for some whiskey."

Another cold gust blew. Myra shuffled closer to Dorian. "Men and their body heat. I could go for a drink." She looked expectantly at Solas.

He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into his chest. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Oh come on, old chap!"

"Dorian, I don't think calling him 'old chap' will convince him…" Myra turned to Solas. "Hah'ren, tel'galas solasan. Din'Arlathan. Melava dar din'an. ( _Elder, come not to a prideful place. Arlathan is dead. The past is over.)_ Let us not judge one man for the actions of his people."

Solas's features remained unchanged for a moment before he sighed. "You speak wisdom. Very well, then. I will join you, if it will please you, da'len."

When they entered the tavern, Myra felt the warmth of the crackling fire overcome her. Chatter filled the air as soldiers and mages fraternized. A couple of the mages nodded their greetings to Myra as she passed.

"They're grateful," Solas said.

"It's strange to see so many mages in one place," Myra awed. They searched for seats.

"Do the Dalish have few mages?" Dorian asked.

"We could only keep two per clan, lest the Templars make a fuss."

"Herald!"

The three saw Varric hail the group at the table closest to the fire. They looked to one another and decided to join his table. Varric was in the middle of dealing cards to Cassandra and Cullen.

"Wanna join?" Varric asked. "I can deal you in."

"Count me in," Dorian said, settling into a seat. "Losing money is so cathartic."

Solas looked at Myra.

"What are you playing?" she asked.

"You Dalish don't have Wicked Grace?"

Myra shook her head.

"Alright, I'm dealing you in. Chuckles, you want in?"

"It would appear I have no other option," Solas said, and nodded politely, joining.

Myra sat beside him.

Cullen shifted in his seat. "I hope you handle your cards better than your snowballs."

Myra's jaw dropped and cheeks reddened. "Is there a rule against taunting beginners?"

"No." Cassandra glared at Varric and Cullen. "But there should be."

Myra looked at her hand, an assortment of songs, serpents, and daggers. She twisted her mouth. What did any of this mean?

"You alright there, Herald?" Varric asked.

"You look positively confounded." Dorian smirked. "This will be a quick game."

"Go get us drinks, Sparkler," Varric shooed him off. "I'll explain the game."

By the time Dorian sauntered back with a bottle Chasind Sack Mead, Varric had finished his explanation. As he filled their cups, Myra recited what she'd learned of the rules.

"The drawings on the card depict the suit. A winning hand contains many cards of the same suit, some of which are worth more than others. You can draw, discard, and play cards to create the best hand…and we're gambling."

"And we're gambling," Varric repeated. "Final rule: don't show _anyone_ your cards. I'm looking at _you,_ Seeker."

Cassandra groaned. "I'm not a child, Varric."

"Lethallan."

Myra looked to Solas.

"Tel'enfenim, da'len. Ar melava halani. _(Do not fear, child. I will help you.)_ "

Myra nodded slowly, but recalled Varric's warning. Solas could simply 'help' by manipulating her until he won.

But, seeing Cullen's smug grin made her want to smack it off his face.

"Ma serannas, hahren. Vir na'din shem'len." ( _Thank you, elder. We will kill these quicklings.)_

"That's cheating!" Cassandra called.

"It's Wicked Grace, Seeker," Varric said.

The game began. Myra attempted to gather the song cards while Solas gathered serpents. They used magic to slip cards to one another when the others weren't paying attention. However, despite their teamwork, Myra folded quickly. Her expressive nature provided many tells for the other players.

"Come on, fold already," Cullen taunted her. "You'll never get the card you need."

"And how do you know what card I need?"

"Because I've felt you using magic and seen the cards slip under the table since the beginning of the game, and I have the card you need in my hand."

"Be wary, Commander," Solas said. "You have more tells than you'd like to believe."

Myra folded regardless, knowing he was right, though she continued to slip cards to Solas under the table.

Finally, the Angel of Death appeared.

"It was a fun ruse while it lasted." Dorian threw in his cards and poured himself another drink.

Varric unwillingly pushed his coin to Solas. Cullen scoffed before doing the same.

Solas smirked and pushed half the coin to Myra. "Ma serannas. Ma melava helani." ( _Thank you. You helped me.)_

"No, thank _you_." Myra pocketed the coin. "I loved watching the light leave our Commander's eyes."

"Piss off," he cried taking a drink.

"Where'd you learn to play like that, Chuckles?" Varric asked.

"The rules were simple enough," Solas said. "The skill most valuable to winning, I already possess."

"Cheating?" Cullen muttered.

"To the contrary, Commander." Solas leaned towards him across the table. "I have no tells."

Myra shuddered in pleasure, but attempted to mask it by taking a drink. Solas smirked at her.

"Another round?"

Varric started to deal everyone in, but Myra pushed back the cards and pulled in her alcohol.

"I think I'll pass this round. This bottle won't finish itself." Her nerves were acting up again. Tomorrow would determine the fate of Thedas, after all.

"Deal me in," Cullen said.

"You think you can beat Chuckles, Curly?" Varric scoffed. "If you say so."

"I'll learn your tells," Cullen's eyes glinted, his persona, competitive.

"That remains to be seen," Solas said, but under the table, he gave Myra's hand a squeeze.

"Isala halani? _(In need of help?)_ " Myra asked. She figured that was the reason he'd gotten her attention.

"Banal _(No)_ ," Solas said. "Ar melava halani. _(I will help you.)_ "

 _He just read me…_ Myra twisted her betrothal ring. _Like Trewyn, like Darrell._.. She suddenly craved a smoke.

And it was at that moment, as Solas let go of her hand and Myra poured herself another drink, that Myra knew what the future would hold.


	11. Chapter 11

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

* * *

"Please let me go with you!"

Fennec followed Myra around as she packed for the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Myra loaded her belt with elfroot and lyrium potions and threw on her ring velvet cloak. She combed through her hair with her fingers before pulling it into a tight bun, then drew her hood to help keep her ears warm. Today was especially chilly, fresh snowfall blanketing the mountains.

"No," Myra said. "It's too dangerous, Fennec."

"But…what if you don't come back?"

Myra froze as she reached for her staff. What would become of Fennec if she didn't return? No, she didn't want to think of it. "I will journey through the depths of the Fade to reach you again." She drew Fennec close and kissed her curly hair. Then, she grabbed her staff and strapped it to her back.

"Haven is not far from the Temple," Myra said as she left her cabin and headed towards the gates. Fennec jogged to catch up to her, but had trouble trudging through the fresh snow. Myra picked her up and carried her. "I'll be back tomorrow."

She saw the mages congregating by the gates. Solas, Cassandra, and Cullen watched her approach.

"Are you ready?" Cullen asked.

"Dealing with familial affairs, one moment."

Fennec pouted at Myra. "I don't want you to go. If you go, I'm coming with you!"

"Elgar'nan, child, try yelling that a little louder, I don't think the entirety of Haven heard you."

"Maker's Breath…" Cullen sighed. She saw Cassandra smile a bit. Perhaps the Seeker was reminded of herself as a child.

"Lethallan," Solas said. Myra saw him motion towards the gates. He wanted to go.

"Look, Fennec," she set the child down, placing her gently on the path peeking out from underneath the recent snowfall. She knew she had to think of something that would allow her to leave.

Suddenly, she had an idea. She glanced at Cullen and smirked. "The reason I'm not taking you," she looked Fennec in the eyes, "is because Commander Cullen has a very special mission, but it's something _I_ can't help with, because I won't be here."

"I what?" Cullen blinked.

Fennec looked at the two of them dubiously. Cassandra snickered under her breath and Solas hid a smirk.

"Which means," Myra ignored them, "I need _you_ to help Cullen with his special mission."

"What's the mission?" Fennec asked, feigning disinterest.

"Ohhh, it's a secret, I can't tell you. The Commander will explain after I leave."

Fennec's entire demeanor changed: her eyes brightened, her curls bouncing wildly as she twirled them in thought. "Well, I guess you can go then, if you really need my help, Myra."

"Thatta girl." Myra kissed her forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow. I want you stay extra close to Commander Cullen while I'm gone, okay?" Myra looked up at Cullen, voice dripping with subtext. " _He'll protect you_ while you're on your mission. Understood?"

Fennec nodded. "I won't let you down!"

"I know you won't, my child." Myra gave her one last hug before leaving. "Be good while I'm gone. I'll be back tomorrow."

Cullen pulled her aside before she left. They talked under their breaths.

"I'm sorry to put you through this," she said. "But she's been following me all morning. She's worried. Please, take care of her while I'm gone."

"Just focus on closing the Breach," he said. "I'll look after Fennec."

Myra squeezed the hand he'd placed on her shoulder. "Thank you. You don't know how much I appreciate this."

He stepped back, adjusting his sword hilt. "I'm sure I can think of pay back," Cullen said with a smirk.

Myra laughed a bit. "Thank you," she said one last time, before she and her group disappeared into the Frostbacks.

* * *

"Does it trouble you?"

Myra looked up from her Mark to address Cassandra. She clenched and unclenched her hand. "No, it doesn't hurt anymore." She saw Solas look back at them and he slowed to fall in step with them.

"It is crackling more though, the closer we got to the Breach…like fanning a flame."

"We should reach the Temple soon," Solas said.

When they reached the Temple, the group's chatter came to a halt, as though someone had blanketed them with silence. The Inquisition had already done much to lay the dead to rest here, but some corpses remained, petrified, with a fresh blanket of snow atop them. Everyone treaded carefully through the snow, trying not to disturb the Temple's ruins. Myra saw Cassandra's jaw tighten as she steeled herself. She saw the corpse of one of her clansmen. She fought the urge to stray from the group to lay him to rest.

The Mark tingled. It crackled as they neared the Breach.

The Breach: the center of the chaos, where fate took a wild turn.

"Are you certain the Mark is strong enough to permanently close the Breach?" Myra murmured to Solas.

"We shall see," Solas replied rather enigmatically.

"That's not a very comforting answer."

"In theory, yes. Even if the Anchor were not strong enough on its own, the mages will amplify its power."

Cassandra fell into step with them. "We picked the best mages the rebellion had to offer. I have faith."

Myra had her doubts, but she kept that to herself.

They approached the Breach. The mages positioned themselves on the back wall. Cassandra and Solas accompanied Myra to the lower level of the ruins.

"Mages!" Cassandra called to them.

"Focus past the Herald," Solas cried. "Let her will draw from you."

Solas looked back to Myra and nodded. Myra bit her lip hard and thrust her hand upward.

The Mark crackled, and the massive Rift above their heads replied. She felt the mages' power flow through her as all of them willed the Rift closed.

It felt like pulling a slingshot, only to have it snap back. Myra flew back in the resulting blast.

"Oof!" She shakily picked herself up, but stumbled. Cassandra reached for her and helped her stand.

"You did it!" The Seeker awed. She lifted Myra's hand in the air. "Your Herald!"

The mages cheered, and with the mission accomplished, they took a moment to rest before beginning their journey to Haven.

* * *

That night, music filled the air. People danced and drank and made merry. Dorian had offered her a drink, and Myra almost accepted, but something told her not to. She felt…on edge…a certain tension filled the air, though the way everyone celebrated made her feel as though perhaps she was just being paranoid.

Cassandra approached her as she stared up at the sky from outside the Chantry.

"Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed." Cassandra joined her gaze at the sky. "We've reports of lingering rifts, and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread."

Myra scoffed. "Heroism. You know how many were involved. I just happened to be at the center."

"A strange kind of luck," Cassandra said. "I'm not sure if we need more or less."

They stood in silence for a moment. The tension in the air continued to gnaw at Myra. A blustering wind carried the smell of smoke. _Probably just all the campfires. All of Haven is celebrating…_ The reasoning did not put her at ease.

"Something doesn't feel right," Myra said.

"No, it doesn't."

The Chantry bells began ringing. Everyone slowed to a halt, unsure of what was coming.

"Forces approaching! To arms!" Cullen cried.

Officers rounded up their dancing soldiers and ordered them to the gates. The mountainside suddenly became ablaze with the fires of war. Myra looked at Cassandra, fear radiating through her body.

"What the—we must get to the gates!" Cassandra grabbed Myra's arm and pulled her into a run.

Sera bolted out of the tavern. She ran with them. "This isn't good and it was never good." Her voice shook. Solas joined them.

"Cullen?" Even Cassandra's voice cracked as she approached the Commander.

"One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain."

"Under what banner?" Josephine asked.

"None," Cullen said.

"Cullen," Myra said. "Where's Fennec?"

Josephine's eyes widened. "Are you certain she's not inside the gates?"

Myra shook her head. "She left my side early on."

"Last I saw, she was with the horses."

Myra made for the gates, but Cullen grabbed her. "Let go of me! I have to find her! Fennec!"

"You can't go out there!" Cullen's hold on her tightened. "Not until we have a plan."

Myra kicked at him. "Let go of me! Fennec!"

"Hamin ( _Relax)_ , da'len," Solas barked. "We will find her."

Myra's lip trembled. Fear pumped through her veins. But she stopped struggling. Cullen released her.

The gates thudded as a massive force banged on them. Soldiers moved to barricade it.

"I can't come in unless you open!" A young boy's voice cried.

Myra looked to Cullen. He nodded at the soldier, then Myra. He and Myra drew their weapons. They approached the gate and the soldier let them through.

A massive warrior approached her, only to be cut down from behind by a young, blonde assassin. Myra could sense something strange about the boy immediately. He seemed neither human, nor spirit, nor demon.

"I'm Cole," he said. "I came to warn you, to help." He leapt towards her, bandaged hands grabbing her arm. "People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know."

"What is this?" Myra said. "What's going on?"

He looked her dead in the eye, his voice, haunting. "The Templars come to kill you."

"Templars?" Cullen stomped in the snow towards him. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One," Cole said. "You know him? He knows you. You took his mages." He pointed up to the mountain. "There."

A figure stood atop the mountain, wearing strange red armor. Behind him, a monstrous creature appeared.

"I know that man…" Cullen said. "But this Elder One…"

Red lyrium jutted from the Elder One's head, fused to his very being. His face, leathery and scarred. He stood heads taller than his general, his form spindly and unnatural.

"He's very angry that you took his mages," Cole said.

"Cullen!" Myra grabbed at him. "Give me a plan! Anything!"

"Haven is no fortress," he said. "If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle." He pointed towards the trebuchets. "Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!"

He turned back to order the troops that had congregated behind them. "Mages! You have sanction to engage them!" He pointed to the figure atop the mountain. "That is Samson, he will not make this easy! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!"

Solas, Sera, and Cassandra ran to regroup with Myra.

"We need to find Fennec," she murmured.

"We have no time," Solas said. "We must focus on defending Haven."

"Piss off, Elfy!" Sera cried. "Just because she's little doesn't mean—"

"Solas is right," Cassandra conceded. "We let them take Haven, we are all lost, including the child."

Myra's mouth twisted. "We look for her as we man the trebuchets. Cullen said she was by the horses."

They defended the first trebuchet. The Templars that attacked them were monstrous and did not feel human. Red lyrium jutted from their bodies, just as it did their Elder One's. They attacked in waves. They did not seem to have the normal abilities of a Templar, as they never once attempted to dispel Myra's magic. However, they were inhumanly strong, as though their power was fed from some external force. Myra and her party cut through one after the other as the trebuchet fired at the forces approaching on the mountainside.

"They felt that!" A soldier called to them. "We'll reload—you get to the other trebuchet! It isn't firing!"

Myra stopped at the stables on the way, scanning the area for any sign of her child.

"Fennec!" Myra cried.

She waited, but all she could hear was the roar of battle. All she could see was the horses pacing restlessly, fear in their eyes. Finally, from behind the wall around the smithy, she saw a head of curls peek out.

"Myra!" Fennec clamored over the wall and buried herself in Myra's legs. "What's happening? Why is everyone yelling? Myra, I'm scared."

"I am too." She hugged her little girl.

"Herald."

Myra looked back to see Cassandra motioning her onward. She looked to Fennec, head swimming as she tried to decide what to do with her. Taking her back would leave Haven vulnerable, having one of her party take her would leave them vulnerable, and having her go alone would leave Fennec vulnerable. Finally, she lifted the child and put her back in the smithy.

"Stay here. Stay hidden. I'll come back for you."

"Myra—" Fennec began to protest, but the Herald shushed her.

"Stay here!"

Myra ran with her companions to the south trebuchet. They found it overrun with enemies and fought their way through it. Myra crewed the trebuchet and fired. A wild show of luck landed the blast near the top of the mountain. The snow shivered and fell, an ensuing avalanche consuming the Elder One's army. Myra watched the white sea of snow swallow the lights that filled the mountainside. Cheering erupted among the Inquisition soldiers.

Suddenly, the ground shook. A terrible cry echoed through the mountains. A blast of fire destroyed the trebuchet next to Myra and threw her back.

"No…it can't be…" Cassandra pulled herself up and looked to the sky.

But it was: the dragon whooshed close overhead, its enormous wings scattering ash and flame.

"We can't face it here!" Cassandra helped Myra up. "We have to…do something!"

"Everyone to the gates!" Myra cried. She grabbed Fennec from the stables and ran. The child trembled in her grasp.

"Pull back, now!" Cullen cried to the soldiers as they rushed inside Haven. He ushered her party in. "Move it, move it!"

They slammed the gates and barricaded them shut.

"We need everyone back to the Chantry!" Cullen cried. "It's the only building that might hold against…that beast!" He looked back at Myra. "At this point…just make them work for it."

"Take her," Myra handed Fennec to Cullen. She immediately clung to him, burying her face in his shoulder. "Keep her safe, I'll evacuate the townspeople."

"Good luck," he said before running off, shouting orders to head to the Chantry.

When Myra finished saving the townspeople, she led her party to the Chantry.

Chancellor Roderick ushered them inside. "Move, keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!" As soon as they had entered, the Chancellor fell in exhaustion. Myra saw the blood dripping from a gaping wound in his stomach.

Cole caught him as he fell. "He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep." He helped support the Chancellor to a resting place. "He's going to die."

"What a charming boy," the Chancellor drawled.

"Myra!" Fennec ran to Myra and tackled her legs in a hug, clinging to her.

"I'm here." She pet Fennec's curls.

Cullen ran to her. "Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. It's cut a path for the army. They'll kill everyone in Haven!"

"The Elder One doesn't care about the village," Cole said. "He only wants the Herald."

"I'd sacrifice myself to save Haven."

Fennec whimpered.

"Say what now?" Sera laughed nervously. "You're joking, right? 'Cause that's not funny."

"For once, Sera and I are in agreement," Solas said. "Sacrificing yourself is noble, but foolish."

"Ya heard Elfie. We're in _agreement._ "

"I'll do what I have to," Myra said.

Cassandra put a hand on her shoulder. "And we'll support you through it."

"You can't do that!" Fennec cried. "You can't!"

The Chantry shook as the dragon gave another fearsome cry. Fennec trembled.

"There is a path," Chancellor Roderick's voice was barely audible as he drew dying breaths. "You wouldn't know it unless you'd made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me…so I could tell you…"

"What about it, Cullen?" Myra looked back. "Can you lead the people to safety?"

"Possibly, if he shows us the path, but what of your escape?"

Myra said nothing at first. She knelt down to Fennec. The child refused to make eye contact. "Fennec, there isn't much time. I need you to go with Cullen now."

The child allowed Cullen to pick her. She started sobbing into Cullen's shoulder.

"Perhaps, you will outsmart it," Cullen said.

"No table to slip cards under this time…"

Fennec continued to sob into Cullen's chest. "Please don't leave…"

"Da'len." Solas, quietly watching the entirety of the exchange, approached Cullen. He tilted Fennec's chin upward so she looked at him. "Do you remember when Dirthamen and Falon'Din were separated?"

"Dirthamen was brave," Fennec said.

"Remember the story."

Fennec nodded, tears still streaming down her cheeks. She looked back to Myra.

Myra kissed her forehead. "I love you, my child."

"I love you too."

Myra ran out to meet the Elder One, leaving the townspeople, her companions, and her child in fate's hands.

The trebuchet was in position, ready to fire. The dragon cried. It whooshed through the sky, circling overhead. It zeroed in on them. Myra watched in horror.

"Move, now!" she ordered.

Her party began running back to the Chantry, but they became separated by the dragon's blast. Myra tumbled to the ground. The Elder One approached her. She lifted herself to her feet. The dragon stomped to her, shaking the ground with its footsteps and fearsome cry.

"Enough!" The Elder One cried.

Myra signaled her group to go on without her.

"Pretender," The Elder One said, looming over her. "You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more."

"What are you?" Myra asked. She slowly moved towards the trebuchet. Her legs quivered as she stared at its monstrous form. "Why are you doing this?"

"Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are, what I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus. You will kneel." His spider-like hand pointed to the ground.

"Why are you here?" Myra cried. "You haven't even asked for anything."

"I ask for nothing, because it is not in your power to give. But that will not stop me." Corypheus tightened his fist around a strange orb. It glowed red with his energy. "I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now." He extended his massive hand, spindly fingers twitching as he cast his spell.

The Mark crackled in Myra's palm. She felt it being…beckoned.

"It is your fault, 'Herald,'" He said. "You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as 'touched,' what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens."

The Mark flared, searing her skin. She felt a massive tug, as though something too big trying to fit through a space too small. It was stuck-in fast and would not move.

"And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!"

Myra fought the urge to scream, knowing she needed to buy the Inquisition time to escape. She heard her Keeper's voice in her head. _Breathe, da'len. The pain is tolerable. Breathe through it._ Myra steeled herself, remembering that she could breathe. "Why did the Divine die?" she cried. "For this chaos?"

"The 'chaos' will empower me, and ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible." He approached her and pulled her up by her arm. She tried to clench her teeth shut, but her screaming escaped.

"I once breached the Fade in the name of another," Corypheus said. "To serve Old Gods of the Empire _in person._ I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused, but no more. I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and _it was empty_."

He threw Myra into the trebuchet. It dug in upon impact. She fell.

"The Anchor is permanent," Corypheus said. "You have spoiled it with your stumbling."

Myra saw an Inquisition sword nearby and grabbed it. She stumbled to her feet, holding the unfamiliar weapon at the ready, but she had no intention to fight. She backed up against the trebuchet. _I just need to fire it…_

"So be it," Corypheus said. "I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation—and god—it requires." He pointed at her. "And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You _must_ die."

Myra eyed the crank, tight with tension, ready to fling destruction to the mountainside. She looked back to Corypheus and smirked.

"You expect me to fight, but that's not why I kept you talking."

She kicked the crank, but didn't wait to watch the rock launch into the mountainside. She heard the avalanche start, the massive sea of snow rushing to the bottom of the hill, ready to consume and destroy everything in its path. She ran. She heard the dragon cry. With a final leap she managed to jump between the broken boards of a walkway. She tumbled down into the icy earth.

The last thing she remembered, her head smashed into something. The pain overtook her. It clouded her vision. Then, she fainted.

When she awoke, the first thing she felt was her head throbbing. The next thing she noticed was she couldn't feel any of her limbs. She sat up and shivered. The wind howled through the caverns around her, chilling her to the bone. Shakily, she stood up. Her whole body ached. Looking up, she couldn't tell how far she'd fallen, as it was completely snowed in.

"That wind must be coming from somewhere," she murmured and began limping through the caverns.

The journey through the caverns passed quickly enough. Myra used the wind to guide her through the winding paths until she had made it outside.

"I have to regroup with the others," Myra murmured.

A storm blew. As loose strands of her hair whipped this way and that in the snowstorm and the icy wind bit into her skin, she wondered if perhaps she should have stayed in the caverns until the weather calmed. At times, she even considered simply lying down in the snow and letting the winter take her to the Beyond. But she refused these temptations. One thing drove her: to find the Inquisition.

"Just need to make it to camp," she murmured through numb and cracked lips. "Just get to camp."

She repeated the phrase for what felt like hours, following what little of a trail they had left. The logs of extinguished campfires got warmer as time passed, filling her with hope and spurring her onward.

"Just get to camp, just get to camp."

She finally reached one with embers still aglow. Her legs trembled beneath her. She nearly collapsed right then. But she could smell the campfires and hear chatter carried in the wind.

As she came over the top of a hill, she saw the Inquisition camp aglow.

"There, it's her!"

Cullen's voice. She'd never been so happy to hear it. She collapsed to her knees.

"Myra!" Fennec cried.

Her eyelids drooped. She could feel consciousness slipping away.

"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra cried.

She heard them trudge through the snow. As she fell, she felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her.

"I have you," Cullen spoke to her through her dimming senses. "You're safe now."

* * *

"What would you have me tell them? This isn't what we asked them to do!"

Myra stirred in her sleep at the sound of Cullen's voice.

"We cannot simply ignore this!" Cassandra cried. "We must find a way!"

Myra rolled over in bed and hoped for some miracle to help her fall back asleep, but the effort bore no fruit.

"And who put you in charge?" Cullen yelled. "We need a consensus, or we have nothing!"

Myra sat up in bed and stared at the arguing advisors.

"Please," Josephine put a hand between the two of them. "We must use reason! Without infrastructure of the Inquisition, we're hobbled!"

"That can't come from nowhere!" Cullen cried.

"She didn't say it could!" Leliana yelled.

" _ENOUGH_!" Cassandra stomped her foot. "This is getting us _nowhere!_ "

"Well, we're agreed on that much," Cullen said.

Mother Giselle turned to Myra and put a delicate hand on her shoulder. "Shh, you need to rest."

"They've been at it for hours," Myra drawled. She lifted herself to her feet. "Besides, I've never been much of a sleeper anyways."

She hobbled towards the group. Cassandra saw her and immediately moved to her side, helping her find a place to sit. Out of her pocket, she pulled out an old wooden pipe. Filling it with spindleweed, she snapped her fingers and lit it. The group was silent. She blew a few puffs.

"Mother Giselle says I should be sleeping," Myra began. "But I can't sleep with you all yelling like this."

"If everyone would just listen—" Cullen began, but Myra shot him a look that made him shut it.

"Stop. Talking."

Cullen's mouth snapped shut.

Myra toked on the pipe some more. She blew perfect smoke rings, just like Darrell used to.

Suddenly, she heard Mother Giselle's voice resound in a soft song.

 _"Shadows fall, and hope has fled_

 _Steel your heart, the dawn will come_

 _The night is long, and the path is dark_

 _Look to the sky, for one day soon_

 _The dawn will come…"_

Leliana joined, then Cullen.

 _"The shepherd's lost and his home is far_

 _Keep to the stars, the dawn will come"_

More and more of Haven's refugees joined in. Myra set down her pipe and stood, looking at the crowd congregating.

 _"The night is long, and the path is dark_

 _Look to the sky, for one day soon_

 _The dawn will come"_

Soon, all of the Inquisition joined in resounding song. As Myra listened and watched the crowd, tears filled her eyes. They were all looking at her.

 _"Bare your blade, and raise it high_

 _Stand your ground, the dawn will come_

 _The night is long, and the path is dark_

 _Look to the sky, for one day soon_

 _The dawn will come"_

The people cheered as the song came to a finish, their hope for the future renewed. _This is what faith can do to people_. She understood why Fennec found comfort in the Chantry, and why the Dalish found comfort in their old tales.

She felt a hand snake along her back. She turned to see Solas beckoning her with him. "A word?"

Myra followed him to a nearby cliff. Sauntering to an old torch, he lit it with veilfire.

"The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting." Solas said. "Their faith is hard-won, lethallan, worthy of pride…save one detail." He looked out over the valley of snow below them. "The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours."

"Ours?" Myra repeated. She looked around warily to make sure no one was eavesdropping, but he had led her far from camp.

Solas nodded. "Corypheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived…" He looked to Myra. "And we must prepare for their reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people."

"Shemlen will always find a way to blame the elves," Myra spat.

"I suspect you are correct," Solas said. "It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies." He reached to her a tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Faith in you is shaping this moment," his eyes flickered as they studied her features. "But it needs room to grow."

Myra flushed at his gaze. Solas gave a soft smile.

After a moment, she began to fiddle with the pipe in her hands. "Smoke?" she asked Solas.

He gave pause, but cautiously joined her. She snapped the spindleweed in the bowl alight with her fingertips. The smoke filled her lungs. When she exhaled, she passed the pipe to Solas. He took one hit before his whole face contorted.

"Something wrong?" Myra asked, taking another puff.

He exhaled the noxious fumes quickly. "I just recalled why I don't smoke."

Myra laughed. "Ir abelas, hahren. I did not know."

They sat in silence for a while, staring over the snowy expanse below them and the stars above them.

Finally, Myra spoke. "Once, you commented on how curious it was that I cared so much for Fennec after finding her outside of Redcliffe. It went beyond concern for an orphan, I adopted her, took her in as my own." The blue light of the veilfire caused shadows to dance across Myra's face. Her eyes remained concealed in the shadows, shielding her vulnerabilities that surely showed through them. "I see a lot of myself in her."

She waited for Solas to say something, perhaps cut her short of this confession, but he waited for her, patient, certain her story was not over. He was always a patient listener with her.

She toked on her pipe some more. "We've both lost those we've cared about, and it's made us scared to get close. Scared to trust." Myra crossed her arms. "I don't blame her for keeping her distance."

"She wanted to stay in Haven and wait for you," Solas said. "The Seeker thought she had lost her senses, tried to pick her up and carry her out, but she struggled so much that even the Commander could not get a hold of her. Finally, I knelt by her side and told her to remember Dirthamen." He looked to Myra and smiled a bit. "She calmed immediately and grasped my hand. We were the last to leave."

"You worried?" Myra furrowed her brow.

"We both did. But her fear consumed her. She hadn't spoken a word until you returned. Your supposed death scared her, lethallan," Solas said.

"Please, hahren, what should I do? Teach her not to fear?" Myra asked.

Solas shook his head. "No, fear provides strength, growth, compassion. No, do not teach her to run from it, teach her to conquer it, and make it her own, as Dirthamen once did." He turned towards her, and reached towards her troubled form, tucking a stray black curl behind her ear. "Lead not only by the strength of your words, but the strength of your actions. Conquer your own fears, and Fennec will follow in suit."

Myra blushed. "You know not what you ask of me." Or perhaps he did, perhaps he knew her feelings for him, and that's why he encouraged her to overcome her hesitations.

"No, you've concealed much." He dropped his hand. "I will not pressure you one way or another, but when you call me, da'len, I will come."


	12. Chapter 12

**PART TWO**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWELVE**

* * *

Skyhold was a wonder in and of itself, and though dilapidated from years of disuse, its majesty captured the hearts of all who viewed it, Myra's included. The attack on Haven scared the refugees, but Skyhold brought them hope, its massive walls holding them safe within. Morale improved greatly after Myra accepted the role of Inquisitor, or so Commander Cullen told her.

"I hope I'm a good leader," she confided in him. "These people are dedicated. They deserve one."

"Do not sell yourself short," Cullen said, looking up from his table of plans. "You've done so much already."

Myra flushed a bit. Creators knew she couldn't take a compliment. She shuffled her feet. "Thank you."

When she glanced at Cullen, she saw his soft gaze and his lopsided smile. Her heart fluttered, but she crushed it quickly. "What happened in Haven…it was close. I'm grateful so many yet live," she said, looking around.

"As am I." His voice came out in a sincere murmur. He had not stopped looking at her.

Myra began to leave, only for the Commander to grab her arm.

"At Haven, you could have—" He stopped himself, shook his head, as if trying to shake the jumbling words together. "I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word."

He released her. She didn't know what to make of his comment, and his words still circled in her mind as her feet found their way to Solas's study. She focused on the present, studying the room from the doorway. An Inquisition agent called from behind her and she dodged out of the way as they carried in a rather ornate-looking desk and set it in the center of the room. The walls were bare, but judging by the paints stacked in the corner of the room and the pristinely folded cloths next to them, the walls wouldn't stay that way for long. A number of oddities occupied the room: one of the strange shards they'd found while adventuring, a wooden statue wrapped in elegantly curved silverstone, and more things that Myra could not properly identify. Another Inquisition agent carried in a stack of books.

"From the University of Orlais," the agent supplemented for the Inquisitor. "Josephine had them ordered per his request." The agent looked about, then turned to the Inquisitor. "Any idea where he wants them?"

Myra smirked a bit. "Apparently, I'm the expert on all things elven apostate."

The agent laughed nervously. "I just figured since you two seem close…"

She smiled. "I'll take them. Thank you." She carried the stack and set them on the rather ornate couch standing against the wall. She plopped into its comfortable, cream cushions and started to sort through the titles. Most of them regarded history, lore, or magic, unsurprisingly. She opened a book concerning Andrastian lore and began reading.

"I see you have made yourself comfortable."

Myra closed the book quickly and shot up. "Solas, I—ir abelas, hahren, I meant no harm."

"And no harm was done. I am curious, which title caught your interest?"

Myra flushed and embarrassedly held up the text by Genitivi. "I've been accompanying Fennec to the Chantry services. I suppose I wanted to learn more. Mother Giselle is a good speaker."

"Do you believe the Chantry's stories?" Solas asked. He began to sort through the books on the couch and organized them.

Myra sat on the arm of the couch. "That's all they are: stories. Just like the Dalish's stories of their gods. The truth is far more complex."

"It pleases me to hear you say such." Solas finished sorting his books and placed one, regarding the First Blight, on his desk for future study.

"I like the décor, by the way."

Solas looked back to her and smiled a bit. He approached where she sat on the arm of his couch. "How does it feel to live in a castle?"

Myra sighed romantically and fell onto the couch's cushions. "Like there are so many stories that have filled these halls and I don't have access to any of them." She looked at him. "This place is old."

"Very old," Solas said.

"How did you find it again?" she asked.

Solas sat beside her. "I found it while dreaming in the area."

She scooted and rested her head in his lap. Solas's hand twitched in hesitation before petting her hair.

"It's truly amazing," she said, "the things you learn while dreaming."

"It's at your fingertips the moment you sleep."

"You know I can't sleep."

"A problem easily remedied."

"Fair." Myra studied the tooth necklace he wore around his neck. Solas continued to pet her hair. The sound of Inquisition soldiers cleaning up the throne room outside carried into Solas's study.

"…I'd like to hear more of your studies," Myra said after a comfortable silence, "if that's alright."

Solas gave her a small smile. "You continue to surprise me. Alright, let us continue, preferably somewhere more interesting than this." He leaned close and caressed her face. He smelled of parchment with a hint of the wild.

Myra flushed. "What are you—?"

Solas smirked. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Myra breathed.

"Then," he said, " _sleep_."

* * *

Solas and Myra approached Haven. The Chantry overlooked them.

"Why here?" Myra asked, following Solas past the front gates.

"Haven is familiar," Solas said. "It will always be important to you."

He led her down to the dungeons. Myra remembered Cassandra and Leliana's interrogations. She shivered.

"I sat beside you while you slept," Solas said, staring at the floor where Myra had once been chained. "I studied the Anchor."

"Ma serraanas, lethallin," Myra said. "I'm grateful someone was watching over me."

"You were a mystery," Solas continued. He turned to her, studying her with that sharp gaze of his. "You still are."

Myra flushed.

"I ran every test I could imagine, searched the Fade, yet found nothing." Solas shook his head. "Cassandra began to suspect duplicity. She threatened to have me executed as an apostate if I didn't produce results."

"Of course she would," Myra sighed. "Ir abelas, hahren. I never meant to cause you grief."

"There was nothing you could have done," he said. He touched her arm gently, beckoning her to follow him outside. The air was crisp and cold outside the Chantry's shelter. Snow crunched underfoot.

"You were never going to wake up," Solas said. "How could you? A mortal sent physically through the Fade…I was frustrated, frightened…" His expression turned pained at the memory. "The Spirits I might have consulted had been driven away by the Breach. Although I wished to help, I had no faith in Cassandra, or she in me… I was ready to flee."

"Where to?" Myra murmured.

Solas smiled lightly. "Someplace far away, where I could research ways to repair the Breach before it reached me." He smirked. "I never said it was a good plan."  
He stepped towards where the Breach stood in the sky. "I told myself, 'One last attempt to seal the rifts.'" He outstretched his hand, then made a fist and pulled it back. "I tried and failed. No ordinary magic would affect them. I watched the rifts expand and grow. Resigned myself to flee…and then…" He took a sharp breath of air, as if recalling the moment Myra sealed her first rift.

"I felt the whole world change," he said.

"Felt the whole world change?" Myra could hardly believe it. Did he truly return her feelings for him? From the very start?  
"A figure of speech," Solas said quickly.

"I'm aware." Myra took cautious steps closer to him. "I suppose I just thought…"

Solas placed a hand on her face as she drew closer. "You change _everything_."

Myra felt the overwhelm of emotion, her heart fluttering and soaring. She dived in for the kiss, a quick peck, cautious, guarded.

His lips didn't move.

Frowning, she turned away, suddenly feeling so foolish.

"Ir abelas," she murmured and began to walk away, only for Solas to grab her hand and pull her into him.

"Din'dirthera ma abelas," he said.

He kissed her with such passion, Myra's knees buckled beneath her. He held her steady by her hips. When she found her footing once more, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands traveled elsewhere, groping her. She moaned only to have his tongue slip between her lips. Breathing heavily, she rocked her hips against his. This was all very much. Very, very much.

Suddenly, he pulled away. His eyes were pained. "No, this isn't right. Not even here."

"Here?" Myra asked.

"Where do you think we were?" Solas said, his expression turning catty.

Realization struck Myra. "This isn't real."

"That is a matter of debate," Solas said. "Something we can discuss when you… _wake up!_ "

* * *

Myra shot awake in bed. She was in her quarters; she'd never left Skyhold.

Sighing, she sunk back into bed, flushing bright red. "That kiss, _that kiss!_ "

There was a knock on the door. Myra slapped a hand over her mouth. Her cheeks burned.

Knocking again. "Da'len?"

She attempted to fix her hair and clothes all-at-once. "Yes? Yes? The door is open!"

The door opened and Solas entered her quarters.

"Hahren," she greeted.

Solas smiled a little, but only a little before his expression turned somber. She patted a spot on the bed next to her but he did not join her, he merely leaned against the desk and stared out to the balcony.

"I came here immediately upon waking. I…needed to apologize."

"Apologize?"

"The kiss. It was…impulsive and ill-considered…and I shouldn't have encouraged it."

"Don't say that," Myra clutched the bed sheets. "I…Ir abelas, hahren. I did not mean to offend."

"No, da'len, din'dirthera ma abelas. It has been a long time," he said, "and things have always been easier in the Fade." He shook his head and looked back to the balcony once more. "I am not certain this is the best idea. It could lead to trouble," he said.

"I'm willing to risk it," Myra said. "If…you are…"

"Maybe…yes…if I could take a little time to think…" He spoke quickly between pauses. "There are…considerations."

"Take all the time you need." Myra got out of bed, hardly caring that her hair was a mess of curls and her clothes were twisted. She shuffled over and hugged him.

He jolted a bit, then allowed himself to relax, wrapping his arms around her. "Ma serraanas, da'len," he said, petting her wildly curly hair.

"Din'dirthera," Myra said, her smirk in her voice. Solas's chest rumbled as he chuckled.

And there they stood for what felt to Myra like half of forever, simply holding each other, safe in the other's arms.


	13. Chapter 13

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

* * *

Cullen settled into the chair at his desk with a sigh. Fennec had already run off to the play with the horses so she could see Myra return from the Emerald Graves. The Commander had already spoken to Myra about the red lyrium shipments he had tracked there, and had asked her to investigate them in hopes of finding their source and destination. Since then, they had been corresponding via the Inquisition's aviary. Though he had already read the letters a dozen times, he decided to flip through them once more.

* * *

 _Commander,_

 _Attached is a letter we found on a shipment. Will send them as we find them._

 _How is Fennec?_

 _-Myra_

* * *

Short and succinct, straight to business, yet her emotions showed all the same in that one line: how is Fennec?

* * *

 _Cullen,_

 _Attached is another letter regarding the shipments._

 _Thank you for taking the time to update me, and please pass word of my gratitude to Josephine. Providing a tutor for the children is a wonderful idea._

 _Taking your advice, I've attached a letter to Fennec below so she can practice reading. I believe you are correct in that it should help put her mind at ease._

 _Fennec,_

 _I miss you every day I am away. The Commander tells me you are in school. How are you liking it?_

 _Don't worry about me. We're both very strong. I love it here. I am learning so much about my people._

 _I will be home soon, my child. Be a good girl for Commander Cullen until I return._

 _With much love,_

 _Myra_

* * *

Cullen smiled at the letter she'd written for her foster child and his mind wandered back to reading the letter with Fennec by candlelight after a long day of work. She had been so excited.

"She wrote me a letter!" she had cried. "Myra wrote me a letter!"

She had needed help with some of the longer words, but otherwise she'd read them as well as any six-year-old. Cullen wasn't sure if she had heeded the Inquisitor's advice, however, considering the events of the next week.

He flipped to the next letter.

* * *

 _Cullen,_

 _Attached is the final letter. We have a location._

 _I am very sorry that Fennec is causing you trouble. I'd like to say I could hardly believe it when you told me she'd gotten into a fight, but that child was born in flame. I don't blame you for losing your temper with the instructor. If he tried to blame my child for defending herself against the children who were bullying her, I'd be livid as well._

 _I am happy to hear that Krem was play-fighting with her. They were using wooden swords, correct? If not, I'll need to have a firm talk with the Charger. I'm not surprised to hear of her talent: she's always had fast reflexes and a good head on her shoulders. If she enjoys it, sword training is a wonderful idea. If you could please arrange that, I would be in your debt._

 _Thank you so much for looking after Fennec while I'm away. She needs someone looking out for her._

 _Below is a reply to Fennec's letter._

 _Dear Fennec,_

 _Try not to get into fights: it's not fair to the other children. I will be back in about a week. I love you and look forward to seeing you again, my child._

 _With the deepest love,_

 _Myra_

* * *

Cullen's heart fluttered upon reading those words, despite knowing they were not intended for him. Their letter correspondence over the past three weeks had really opened a personal bond between himself and the Inquisitor, or so he felt.

His heart fluttered once more when an Inquisition agent knocked on his door.

Cullen stood quickly. "Is she, erm, they here?"

"They approach the gates now, Commander."

"Thank you. Dismissed." Cullen hurried down from the battlements. By the time he reached the gates, Solas was already helping Myra off her horse. Fennec ran and flung herself to Myra, who caught her and swung her around. Myra pulled the child close, and Cullen saw nothing but love in the child and woman's eyes.

He smiled. "I take it you had safe travels?"

"As safe as they could be," Myra replied rather enigmatically. Probably so as to not worry Fennec any further. The child spent her time out of school and sword training doing little else than worry for Myra's safety. "You received my most recent letter, yes?"

"I did."

Cassandra and Sera were already putting the horses away. Solas stayed by Myra's side and observed the conversation.

 _Why doesn't he just leave?_ Cullen felt rather self-conscious around the apostate; there was something vaguely threatening in his gaze.

"Myra! Myra!" The child tugged on Myra's collar. "You have to watch Cullen and I sword fight!"

"With wooden swords, right?" Myra gave a pointed look at Cullen.

He crossed his arms. "Of course. She couldn't even lift a real one."

Myra held a hand up in mock surrender. "Forgive a mother's worry. Yes, child, I want to see you and the Commander sword fight." She looked at Cullen with a catty smirk that made his tongue tie. "Let us hope the Commander is not too rusty from sitting at his desk."

Cullen scoffed, but found he could say little else in response. He was distracted by the playful twinkle in her eyes when she teased him.

Solas murmured some words in elvish to Myra, and she murmured some in reply, before he left. Myra looked a bit crestfallen after the exchange, but she perked up quickly. "Let's see about that sword fight!"

* * *

Cullen awoke early Sunday morning after a fitful sleep. Groaning, he forced himself from the bed and peered out the window of his bedroom. Skyhold's occupants usually awoke early Sunday to attend the morning service, and as such, he could see the usual groggy morning bustle as people ate their breakfasts and gathered their loved ones before the service.

Sunday had grown to be Cullen's favorite day of the week. "I should hurry and get dressed. Cassandra's probably already eaten." That blasted Seeker always beat him out of bed.

Cullen did more than simply dress himself, however. He spent more time than usual on his hair, oiling it with scented oils, and even dabbing some on his neck. He had already shaved the day of Myra's return, not for any particular reason, of course, and decided to keep the stubble that had grown. It suited his features, anyways. When all was said and done, he brimmed with confidence for the day ahead.

Climbing down the steps to the battlements, he ran into Cassandra. She nearly passed him.

"Cullen, is that you?" Cassandra awed.

"It's me, alright," he said, giving a lop-sided smile.

"You look…"

"Yes?"

"…different."

She started to walk away, beckoning him to follow her to Fennec's bedroom.

"Good different?"

"Different different."

Cassandra stopped as they entered Fennec's room, sniffing hard. "Is that _scented_ oil?"

"I certainly _smell_ it."

Cullen heard Myra's voice but could not see her at first. "Where—?" he stopped short upon closer inspection of Fennec's room. "Oh, that's cute."

"Inquisitor, I never knew your hair was so _long_ ," Cassandra awed.

Fennec sat on the bed as Myra sat on the floor. With clumsy fingers, the child worked intently on braiding her foster mother's long, curly black locks.

"She insisted," Myra said in a tone none-too-happy.

"Stop moving!" Fennec cried.

" _Yes_ , da'len, I heard you." Myra sighed. "I'll be staying in Skyhold today, so I figured, why not? I'd be a bad mother if I denied my child such simple pleasures. _YEOWCH!_ " Myra pressed a hand to her scalp only to have Fennec smack it away. "Careful, child. Don't pull so hard."

Cullen chuckled at the two. "If only I could capture this moment."

"It pleases me that you cannot."

Cassandra laughed.

"Done!" Fennec called. She bundled the hair at the bottom with a rather colorful ribbon.

As Myra stood, Cullen awed at the sight. The shorter curls draped prettily around her face, framing her features: her bright hazel eyes, the tattoos on her face, her deep red lips… "Maker's breath…"

Cullen slapped a hand over his mouth quickly. Cassandra eyed him, a smirk emerging on her lips.

"I mean…it looks…"

"Yes? How does it look?" Myra spun around a bit, her braid twirling behind her. "It's different, wearing it down…feels heavier."

"I like it, Myra!" Fennec decided. "You have pretty hair, like mine! Remember?"

"Not quite as pretty as yours, my wild child," Myra kissed Fennec's forehead. Then, she looked pointedly at Cassandra and Cullen.

"It's…different," Cassandra decided. "It doesn't look… _bad…_ Cullen?"

But Cullen was still in awe. She maintained eye contact with him for a bit, then looked away, flushing.

"It looks great!" Cullen said quickly. "It looks really great." He rubbed the back of his neck and fluffed up his coat with his other hand to try and hide the flush blooming across his face. He could feel Cassandra staring at him the entire time.

"Good, I won't have to undo Fennec's hard work, then." Myra smiled and looked to her child. "You did a very good job." She picked her up and kissed her cheek. Fennec grinned.

"Shall we head to service?" Myra asked.

"We shall. Lead the way, Inquisitor," Cassandra said.

Myra walked ahead of them, Fennec in her arms. The Seeker hung back with Cullen, speaking in fierce whispers.

"You are _fond_ of her?" Cassandra whispered.

"That would be highly unprofessional."

" _Professional?_ Forget about what is professional. You _are_ fond of her, admit it."

"Seeker—!"

"You have to tell her. You have to tell her how you feel."

"I can't, I—"

They entered the gardens, then the long hall where the worship room was located. The pews had already been set and they found a spot near the back. Cassandra purposefully positioned them so Cullen sat next to Myra.

The Inquisitor smiled politely at him, but looked away quickly when they had to scoot closer together to fit the latecomers.

The beginning ceremonies started. Cullen noticed, due to his proximity, that Myra hummed along to the hymns. Her humming was as musical as when she spoke.

A different Sister spoke today, claiming Mother Giselle was spending the day attending to the infirmary. The service proved rather dull without the Mother speaking. Yawning, Cullen stretched out his arm on the back of the pews. Myra jolted upon feeling his arm on her back, but upon seeing it was only him, she settled a bit. Cullen gave a lopsided smile before returning his attention back to the droning sister. Fennec had already fallen asleep in Myra's lap, and for a moment, Cullen felt familial warmth wash over him.

The service couldn't have dragged out any longer, especially with Cullen's proximity to Myra. He spent half the service debating whether or not to return his arm around her after they stood for the second round of hymns, but Myra didn't jolt again when he finally decided to. In fact, she relaxed into him. Cullen's heart soared.

But when the Chantry service came to a close, it was time for them to go their separate ways. Cullen almost asked Myra if she wanted to watch him and Fennec sword fight again, but something stopped him.

"Thank you," Myra said, turning back to look at both Cassandra and Cullen as they left the worship room. "The service was dry, but I know how much it means to Fennec."

"You are most welcome," Cassandra said.

"We're always happy to have you," Cullen said, and he truly meant it.

Myra flushed. Cullen gave a lop-sided smile.

They all began to separate upon reaching Skyhold's foyer, only for Cullen to feel a tug on his coat. He looked back to see the Lady Inquisitor herself. His heart fluttered.

"For what it's worth," she said. "You smell nice."

She let go of him and left for Solas's study.

It took a full minute before Cullen could muster a reply, but by then, it was too late.

She was already gone.


	14. Chapter 14

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

* * *

 _Ne las ma vhenan hamin –_ You give my heart rest.

 _Mana –_ hold, wait, stop

 _Dir'lath –_ beloved

 _Ar lath ma_ – I love you.

* * *

Though the Chantry service was dull, Myra enjoyed the time spent with Cullen, Cassandra, and Fennec. Her child had already run along with the Seeker to show off her skills with a wooden sword. It pleased Myra to see Fennec bond with one of her closest friends. Dorian had already invited her to the tavern that night, which Myra was happy to attend, even if Solas protested.

She decided to spend time with the fellow elven apostate, since she had time to spare before meeting with Dorian. After saying her goodbyes to Cullen, she entered Solas's study. He sat at the desk, drinking tea. His face contorted.

"Something wrong with your tea?" Myra greeted him.

Solas shook his head. "It is tea, I detest the stuff." He scowled at his cup as he set it back in its saucer. "But I need to shake the nightmares. I may require a favor, lethallan."

Myra sat on his desk, concern filling her. "What's wrong?"

"I heard my friend's cry for help in my sleep. Someone has bound her to their will, forced her to kill. We must save her."

"Of course. How have they bound your friend: blood magic?"

"A summoning circle."

Myra paused for a moment in shock. Solas sighed impatiently and stood from his desk, beginning to pace the room.

"Your friend…is a spirit?"

"Yes." Solas approached Myra. "Please help me, da'len, as I have helped you."

"You needn't ask." Myra closed the distance between them, pulling him into a hug. It hurt her to see him in such distress. She wanted nothing more than to kiss his fears away, but she controlled her impulses. _He asked for time to think, give him that._

Solas wrapped his arms around Myra, holding her close. She held him tight.

"Peace, hahren. I'll help rescue your friend."

* * *

"Lethallan."

Myra did not turn her head from the Frostbacks that cut into the starry horizon. "You return." She did not move from her sitting place on the battlements as Solas approached her.

"The hour is late, lethallan," he said.

"An astute observation." Myra did not break gaze with the horizon. Solas joined her.

"Where did you go?" Myra asked. She exhaled perfect smoke O's.

"A place nearby where the Veil is thin. I dreamt and found the spirit's resting place."

"What happens when spirits die?" Myra asked.

"They return to the Fade," Solas answered, a hint of a smile on his face. "Already, I felt its energy returning. A new spirit will take her place."

"Do you think we're the same way?" Myra asked looking to the sky. "Sometimes, I feel the wind as a lover's sigh, as if Trewyn still watches me." She felt the familiar pang in her heart when speaking of her deceased husband and fell silent, averting her gaze downward.

"Does something trouble you?" Solas asked.

"I am always troubled." Myra shook her head and stood up. "I can't sleep without the stars overhead. It was bad in Haven, but at least I could hear the wolves cry. Here, it's…" she paused…

Armor clanged as a sentinel walked by. The tavern roared with the Chargers' laughter. A couple guards hollered from the barracks about someone being a "filthy, cheating bastard." An officer shouted at them to "Pipe the fuck down, cadets, or you'll be cleaning bedpans for the next month!" Crows cawed loudly from the aviary, startled by all the commotion. Babies of pilgrims cried into the night and couples yelled at each other about whose turn it was. Horses whinnied and stomped their hooves.

"I know it's foolish," Myra said, "but I miss the noises of the forest and the night sky overhead: stars and moonlight peeking through the treetops…Seeing nothing but stone while I lie awake at night feels so…wrong."

Solas listened intently, soaking in every word. Myra appreciated that about him: how he really listened… She saw him smile and realized she'd been staring. Blushing, she averted her gaze quickly. "Ir abelas."

"Din'dirthera ma abelas," Solas said. The exchange was becoming rather familiar between them. Solas stood from the battlements. "Come, da'len. You will have your night sky." He brushed her elbow gently as he passed, the ghost of a grasp beckoning her to follow.

He led her across the battlements, traversing several rooms before they'd found one with the ceiling caved in overhead. Myra could hear the cool breeze overhead and feel the chill of the night. Brushing the rubble off the bed, Solas climbed in and motioned her to join him.

Myra blushed, remembering his earlier rejection. _No…not a rejection, he just wanted time to think..._ "A-are you sure?"

Solas gave the hint of a smile. "Do not grant me the opportunity to change my mind."

Myra approached the bed slowly…cautiously…before settling next to him, making sure to leave a couple inches between them. Solas viewed the distance, shook his head, then pulled her closer, resting her head on his chest. He breathed in her scent, then sighed happily.

"Ne las ma vhenan hamin. Ma serranaas." Solas's chest rumbled as he spoke. He kissed her head sleepily before slipping off to slumber. And with the stars twinkling above her, Myra easily followed him into the Fade.

* * *

About a month passed. Myra had left with Cassandra, Dorian, and Sera to Caer Oswin. She would have brought Solas, but he requested to stay behind for this mission.

"I don't understand what I did wrong," Myra confided in Dorian one night, crying after a night of heavy drinking.

"You didn't do the damnedest thing wrong. He's just broody like that. Wonder if he thinks it's part of his charm."

Three weeks passed on the road, and Myra's panic only grew.

"He told me he needed time to think," she told Cassandra. "What if this is his decision?"

"You are overthinking this. Perhaps he simply did not wish to make this arduous journey," Cassandra said as they led their horses through a thick forest.

She confided in Sera as well. "I don't know what I'll do if he ends things. My heart can't take this. By the Dread Wolf, it can't."

"Well, first thing you gotta do is rid yourself of all this elfy shite, 'cause that's only gonna remind you of him. Then, you gotta start being your own person. You're you, and I'm me, and that doesn't change whether it's you and him, or you and me, or you and Blackwall, or even you and our stuffy Commander. You're still you, and you're gonna stay you, so be happy 'bout it, yeah?"

But none of their encouragement helped put her worries at ease. Even after more pressing matters, like the Seekers' allegiance with Corypheus, came to light, she still tossed and turned in the night, preyed upon by Fear and Desire demons.

"You will always be alone," Fear said. "No one would want to spend their life with the likes of you."

"Come with me," Desire said. "Come with me and never be alone again."

When they returned to Skyhold, Myra escorted two of the horses to the stables. Cassandra escorted the other two. They did this in solemn silence.

Myra closed the stable and began to remove the horses reins. She saw Cassandra pull out the Seekers' book from one of her pouches.

"Cassandra…"

The Seeker didn't reply, staring hard at the book.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Cassandra's posture was tense. She gripped the book tightly. "I should get back to reading."

"Of course." Myra gave a sympathetic smile. "If there's anything you need…"

"Thank you."

The Seeker left.

"Rough trip?" Blackwall stood near his fire pit, working on a large wooden rocking horse.

"The roughest." Myra sighed. "Could use a drink…"

"I'm sure Dorian would be happy to oblige. I'm here if you need to talk."

Myra smiled. "You've been loyal to me, Blackwall. I appreciate that."

The Warden smiled a bit. "Need something heavy moved?"

"Manual labor in exchange for compliments?"

"I aim to please."

Myra giggled. Blackwall flushed a bit.

He cleared his throat. "Solas stopped by earlier, asked for you."

Myra cocked her head. Solas? The same Solas that had refused to travel to Caer Oswin with her? She still didn't know what she'd done to create this rift between them, but perhaps he intended to close it…for good. "Thank you."

"Everything alright?"

"I'm fine, I just…" Myra sighed.

Blackwall waited for a bit, whittling away at the wood. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Myra gave a grateful smile. "Thank you. Just…he's been distant."

"Isn't he always?" Blackwall said.

"More so than usual."

Blackwall scoffed. "If this is the same Solas that didn't speak to you for days because of the one night we spent together…"

"It was my fault…"

Blackwall stopped whittling away. For long moments he said nothing. Myra shuffled her feet in the hay beneath her feet. A horse nudged her hand for oats.

Finally, the Warden spoke. "It's not my place, but…I worry for you. Be careful with that one. Wolves are easier to kill than catch."

It was an uncharacteristically mysterious response from the Grey Warden, and his words still reeled in her mind by the time she made it to Solas's study. She found Solas relaxed on his sofa, engrossed in a book.

"Lethallin," she said, announcing her presence.

"Lethallan!" He slammed his book shut and shot up. He seemed…eager. Myra furrowed her brow. Why would he be pleased to see her? She was certain he wanted to end things between them.

"Blackwall said you were looking for me?"

"I've eagerly awaited your return."

"Why?"

Solas's struggled for words.

 _Solas never struggles for words.._.

"It would be far easier to show you," he finally decided.

Confusion radiated through her body as Myra let him take her hand and lead her to her quarters. "Solas, what are you—?"

"Mana. Patience, da'len."

They walked up the stairs. The area smelled… _different_ , like Solas's study, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

Finally, they reached Myra's bedroom. At first she didn't notice any change, then her eyes fell on a pile of large, white cloths in the corner.

"Solas, what did you do?"

He merely smiled before looking up.

And when Myra followed his gaze, she was breathless. The ceiling was covered, from edge-to-edge, with a fresco of the night sky through the treetops. The constellation Fenrir stood at the center of the stars, with the other constellations encircling it. The overhanging leaves were painted in black, just as they would appear sleeping in the forest, and the moon peeked out the corner, its white light breaking through some of the overhang and filtering moonbeams to the rest of the scene.

"Solas…" Myra looked at him in awe. His gaze was soft. "What does this mean?"

"It means," he said, looking down and taking her hands in his, "I still haven't forgotten that kiss."

Myra felt her eyes sting with tears as relief and joy flooded over her. She threw her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as she started to cry. "Ma serranaas, ma serranaas."

Solas held her close, then tilted her head up and kissed her.

"Vhenan." He hugged her and rocked her gently. "Ma dir'lath da'len."

"Hahren," she said. "Ar lath ma."

"Ar lath ma."

He gave her a final kiss, and just as he'd once felt the whole world change around her, she felt the whole world change around them.


	15. Chapter 15

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

* * *

 _Fenedhis lasa –_ An expansion of the common curse " _fenedhis"_

 _Dirth'ena enasalin –_ Arcane Warrior

 _Vir –_ Way, road

 _ghilan'him banal'vhen_ – A derogatory term for Arcane Warrior, "path that leads to nowhere"

* * *

Myra had headed to Skyhold's garden to harvest her herbs when she came across a curious sight. Dorian and Cullen sat at a chess table tucked away in one of the garden's corners.

"Gloat all you like, I have this one," Cullen drawled.

Myra began to approach the pair.

"Are you _sassing_ me, Commander?" Dorian said. "I didn't know you had it in you."

"Why do I even—Inquisitor!" Cullen shot up from the table at Myra's approach.

"Leaving, are you?" Dorian smirked. "Does this mean I win?"

Cullen sat back at the table, a piercing glare directed at the mage.

"Are you two playing nice?" Myra asked, eyeing the two of them.

"I'm _always_ nice." Dorian moved his piece forward in a grandiose fashion, turning back to Cullen. "You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better."

"Really?" Cullen moved a bishop diagonally. "Because I just won, and I feel fine." He leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face.

"Don't get smug. There will be no living with you." Dorian stood from his seat, sauntering past Myra and back into Skyhold.

"I should return to my duties as well…unless you would care for a game?"

Myra smirked. "Prepare the board, Commander."

Cullen began to arrange the pieces to their starting positions. Myra sat and watched him in interest.

"Do the Dalish have chess?" He asked her.

"My Keeper has told me of it, but I have never played, personally."

"The rules are simple. Each piece moves in a different fashion, like this, see?" He showed the motions of the different types of pieces, starting with the pawns and ending with the king. "The goal is to ensure the king's safety."

"So this is a game of war," Myra said, observing the detailing of her small ivory piece. "Useful for a Commander, such as yourself." Myra smirked. "Do I even have a chance at winning?"

"Well, if you cheat better than you did in Wicked Grace."

"That was a rule of the game."

"Not…explicitly."

Cullen looked at the board for a moment, deep in thought, then he chuckled. "As a child, I played with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won—which was _all_ the time." He moved one of his pawns. "My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won…Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays…"

"You have siblings?" Myra asked, moving one of her pawns.

"Two sisters and a brother," Cullen said, adjusting in his seat.

"Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should."

"I haven't spoken to my Keeper aside from the letters she sent to the Inquisition. I wonder if she's chosen a new First…"

"What does being First mean, exactly?" Cullen asked. "It's a clan's Second-in-Command, right? After the Keeper."

"I wouldn't think of it as a commander as it is a historian and guide. We're responsible for all lore that is retained since the fall of Elvhenan. We help lead the clan, in some ways." She thought back to her days, scouting the edges of the forest to 'protect the clan.' "I led scouting parties, for example." She left out the part about her time spent killing humans that ventured too far into the woods.

Cullen moved his chess piece. "Cassandra tells me you sometimes tell stories to your party as you travel."

"She seems to enjoy them, for entertainment, if nothing else."

"I'd like to hear some of your stories sometime," he said.

"Well, I tell Fennec the same story every night, if you'd like to sit in," Myra offered. "I'm sure she would appreciate your company."

"I'd…like that." Cullen fluffed his coat.

Myra smiled and moved her chess piece. "She speaks highly of you. I truly appreciate you taking care of her while I'm away."

"It's not a problem. She's rather well-behaved for a child."

Myra felt a smile spread across her face, envisioning Fennec petting the horses by the stables. "She's a sweet girl."

The game continued. Myra decided to play fair and felt a strategy formulating in her mind as the game progressed. They continued to chat idly as they played.

"This may be the longest we've gone without discussing the Inquisition—or related matters," Cullen said. "To be honest, I appreciate the distraction."

"Me too," Myra said. "And now that you've taught me to play, maybe I can play Dorian as well."

"By the looks of it, you'd wipe that smug grin right off his face. The game's yours," Cullen gave a lopsided smile. "Well played. We shall have to play again, sometime?"

"I'd like that," Myra said. She stood and began walking away, but circled back around behind Cullen's seat. She placed both hands on his shoulders, causing him to jolt. "But I know you let me win," she said.

His neck reddened. "I…yes?"

Myra giggled and left him in his chair, surely confounded.

* * *

Myra awakened long before Solas, but she did not disturb him, knowing how dear he held his journeys in the Fade. She grabbed a breakfast of flapjacks that sat waiting for when he awakened.

When he opened his eyes, he immediately moved closer to her, still half-asleep. He rested his head on her chest and sighed happily.

"What are you reading?" he asked after a few moments.

"Tome of the Knight-Enchanter," Myra said.

"You have chosen your specialization then?"

"It suits me." Myra kissed his head. "Your breakfast is waiting."

"Ma serranaas, vhenan." He kissed her and went to take the plate from the table. He wrinkled his nose. "You know I detest tea."

"It is most fortunate that it is not for you, then. Pass it to me, please."

He handed the teacup to her. She took it and drank. The mint still refreshed her despite, the tea being lukewarm. Solas started to get out of bed, but Myra grabbed his arm.

"Don't I get a good morning kiss?" She batted her eyelashes. He gave a lopsided smile and she smirked in return as he leaned in closer and closer. But just as he drew in a sweet breath of anticipation, he reeled back.

"A valiant effort." He stood up and made for the bookshelf. "An effort that might have been successful…had I not caught the scent of that vile drink on your breath."

Myra laughed and swallowed the tea leaves she'd collected in her mouth. "Remind me to drink less fragrant teas."

Solas returned from their small collection of books, many of which he had Josephine request from the University of Orlais. He pulled the pages open by the ribbon, finding the place where he left off and beginning his study.

Time passed in a slow drawl as Myra toiled through pages of "sacred duties" and "holy callings" to try and obtain the knowledge of her chosen specialization. "Fenedhis lasa," Myra groaned.

"Hm?" Solas peered over to her page and scanned it.

"I suspected as much as the trainer described it to me, but reading it makes my blood boil." Myra looked at him, a deadpan expression on her face. "This book describes the techniques of dirth'ena enasalin. The shemlen took a technique of our people, renamed it, and then turned it into divine fenedhis." She slapped the book. "Can I call these so called 'Knight-Enchanters,' ghilan'him banal'vhen?"

Solas smirked. "If you so wish, though I doubt any of them will understand."

"Elgar'nan, if I wanted to learn vir'dirthena enasalin, I could have asked one of my clan." Myra sighed.

"Do you regret your decision?" Solas asked, returning to his reading.

"No, it still suits me, I simply detest when the shemlen adopt part of our history and repurpose it." Myra wrinkled her nose. "Especially when religion's involved."

Finally, she shook her head. Her eyes fell on his necklace. "I've been meaning to ask, what creature is that from?"

"Hm?"

"Your necklace. What creature did you pull that tooth from?"

Solas looked down and wrapped his fingers around it. "Ah, yes, I've had this for some time now. A wolf with fur as black as a moonless night."

"Why do you wear it?" Myra asked.

"Why do you wear your betrothal ring?"

Myra felt her skin grow cold. "To…remember…"

Solas gave her a sad smile. "Exactly."

Myra frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Solas got off the bed and slowly started to dress. "I was just…thinking I might journey to the Fade. There's a place near here that has the most fascinating spirits."

"Oh…" She awkwardly looked back to her book and tried to start reading it once more.

"Would you…like to come with me?"

"What?"

"Journey with me into the Fade?"

Myra's jaw dropped. "I…didn't think I was invited."

Solas kissed her. "Consider this an invitation."

* * *

"The Veil is so thin here," Myra awed as they reached their destination.

Solas set wards around the hot spring, a warm oasis in the frosty mountains. "Can you feel the energy from the Fade tingle on your skin?"

"I can," Myra approached Solas. After he finished placing the wards, he turned his attention to her.

She kissed him. "Ma serraanas."

"You are most welcome." He caressed her face. His hand was cold, so Myra kissed it too.

"I must admit," Solas said, "I am eager to journey into the Fade with you once more." They laid on the grass, close to the hot spring.

"Will you kiss me again?" Myra teased.

"'Twas not _I_ who kissed _you_."

" _You_ started with the tongue."

"Hush, da'len. Let us sleep."

Myra tossed fitfully for a while until Solas guided her breathing, easing her into relaxation and eventually slumber.

When Myra "awoke," she found she was in the Fade. The area was peaceful, a meadow shaped by the warm relief of the hot spring. Myra sat on the grass and waited for Solas to find her. Better that than wander off and fall prey to demons.

It was not long before Solas called her name. She turned around to see the mage.

"Vhenan." Myra stood and approached him. The grass swayed gently in the breeze. Wisps of spirits circled around them before darting away. Myra watched their iridescent energy trail away in wonder.

Solas chuckled. "Spirits of love."

Myra flushed. Red flowers bloomed around her feet. "This place is beautiful," she said.

"As are you."

"Flatterer."

Solas kissed her and she kissed him back. The spirits of love fluttered back and circled around them.

Myra broke away, flushing. "I am unused to having an audience."

Solas smiled and kissed her again. "They are joyous. I've told them much about you."

"Why?" Myra asked.

Solas tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Ar lath ma, vhenan. That is not flattery, merely reality."

Myra looked down, sadly.

"What troubles you?" Solas asked.

"It's…been so long," Myra said. She twisted her betrothal ring around her finger.

"You still mourn?"

"My Keeper would chastise me."

"I am not your Keeper."

Myra looked up at him. The spirits of love had dispersed. "Yes, after six years, I still mourn."

"Time only dulls the pain."

Myra nodded solemnly. He embraced her, holding her close.

Her voice quivered as she spoke. "Do you still love me, even if I cannot give you my heart as a whole?"

"We can never let go of what is lost," Solas murmured in her ear.

"Ar lath ma," she said.

"Ar lath ma."

As Solas held her, however, Myra felt a change in the air. She had felt demons enter her dreams all-too-often, but something felt different about this one…felt… _familiar_.

The air grew chill and Solas released her, readying his staff.

"A demon? They never come here."

"This is my fault." Myra clutched her stomach, remembering the Despair Demon's icy grasp. "It followed me here."

Solas looked to the horizon, and not long after, the Despair Demon in question glided to them. The grass turned to ice. The air went cold.

The demon assumed Trewyn's form, and Myra immediately felt her eyes well up with tears. It was the spitting image of her deceased husband, including the features she'd already forgotten, like the way his eyes crinkled as he gave a ghastly smile.

"Leave," Myra said. "Why do you continue to stalk me?"

Trewyn frowned. "I see you've found another."

"Stop," she said.

Solas stepped between herself and the demon. "I do not know what business you have with her, but begone."

Trewyn simply walked through the two of them, chilling them to the bone. He grasped her stomach from behind. "I wonder when the next child shall come. The last one was so delicious."

"Shut it!" Myra cried.

"Yes, feel the anger, then remember it is your fault. You could not save me, you could not even save _our child_."

Myra fell to her knees sobbing.

She jolted awake.

She scrambled to her feet and stumbled to the spring, splashing water on her face. Elgar'nan, it burned, but her insides were ice. Her breathing came out ragged and uneasy.

Solas awoke soon after. "Vhenan." She could hear his footsteps from behind.

Myra shook her head, burying her face in her ring velvet cloak. It soaked up the water, but would it soak up her tears? She felt herself on the cusp of sobbing and knew there was nothing she could do to stop it. The Despair Demon's touch still chilled her stomach. This was a pain she'd buried for too long. The lump in her throat grew larger and her eyes stung. Her child, stolen from her that fateful night. Her eyes welled until they spilled over. Her chest heaved, her breathing fast, ragged, and strained. Sobs racked her body as she cried into her cloak.

Solas held her together as she collapsed in on herself. He sat beside her and drew her in close. He did not say anything, but she knew he understood. She knew he understood why she could not journey through the Fade and see all of its wonders as he had. He understood why she shirked sleeping.

"Ir abelas," Solas said.

Ir abelas…an apology, but a more direct translation led to "your sorrow." And for once, Myra felt that perhaps someone finally did feel her sorrows.


	16. Chapter 16

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

* * *

It was early Tuesday morning and Cullen knocked on the door to Fennec's room. "Fennec?"

"Come in, Commander. She's almost ready."

 _That's Myra's voice._ He opened the door, confused. The foster mother was braiding her daughter's hair. Fennec was already dressed for the day, wearing a plaidweave tunic and cotton trousers.

"Inquisitor," Cullen stammered. "I thought you had already left for the Western Approach."

"Plans change." The elf finished her braid and wrapped it in a stiff bun at the back of the Fennec's head. Something seemed flat about her expressions when she talked. "There, that should keep it out of your way for your training."

"Cullen, look! My hair matches Myra's!" she cried, running to the Commander. He scooped her up and took a better look at the Inquisitor's handiwork.

He chuckled. The buns were different, but it was the sentiment that mattered. "You're right. It's a bun, just like hers."

Fennec grinned. "Myra says she'll take me to class today. You'll come too, right?"

"I, erm, don't think that will be necess—"

"I'd welcome your company," Myra said. She grabbed the fur coat she'd made for Fennec along with the small satchel the child kept her school supplies in. "You almost forgot these, darling." She kissed her cheek. Cullen blushed at her proximity.

"I…suppose since I was going to anyways…"

And so he began his walk with the Inquisitor to the Chantry, taking "their" daughter to class.

"Are you her mother?" One of the newer pilgrims greeted them.

"Yes," Myra answered. She reached out her hand to pull Fennec closer, only for the child to run out of her grasp to tackle one of her friends.

"She's got a warrior's spirit. I can certainly tell she's his child, but your hair…" The mother pilgrim touched her hair. Myra shirked. "I can tell she's your daughter by your hair," the pilgrim said.

The pilgrim looked at Myra as if seeing her for the first time. "I'm afraid I've never seen you before."

"I'm out a lot, I'm afraid," Myra said.

"I'm so glad your husband takes such good care of her."

"Husband?" Cullen flushed. "N-no, I'm not her husband!"

"Oh, you two aren't married?" the pilgrim asked.

"No, we're—" Cullen began.

"Don't _worry_ , about it darling, I have a sister like that. You'll have no judgement coming from me."

The pilgrim waved goodbye to the two, leaving them positively dumbfounded.

"I-I…" Myra stammered.

Cullen fluffed up his coat, trying to hide his blush. "I…"

They were silent for a few moments. _Oh Maker, what do I do? I have to tell her how I feel_. But she wasn't his to claim anymore. _Solas_ …

Cullen had never particularly cared for the elven wander, but they at least seemed to have a mutual respect for each other. _She's a beautiful woman, if Solas treats her right, who am I to—_

"That was weird," Myra stammered.

"Yes," Cullen said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Very strange…"

They said their goodbyes to Fennec and Cullen got a very thorough scolding from her instructor Monsieur Bordeaux before they left the gardens and returned to the throne room.

"That was, uh…" Myra moved out of the way for a servant. "Very weird."

"You're telling me." Cullen looked over at Myra. The same flat expression had returned to her features, and Cullen could see the dark circles under her eyes that her tattoos only helped to hide. "You look exhausted."

"I've been sleeping less than usual." Myra said, stepping away.

"Might I ask why?"

Myra kept his back to her, but he could see her shoulders fall. "I…It might be best not to speak of it." She folded her arms.

"Inquisitor…" Cullen touched her shoulder. "If you need to talk…"

She shirked his hand off and said nothing.

Cullen sighed. "You don't look well, and I'm worried. Have you eaten?"

"No, I wasn't hungry."

"We can't afford to have our Inquisitor skipping meals." Cullen started walking to the kitchen, motioning for Myra to follow. "Come on, food might help."

She was slow, but eventually, she did start to follow behind the Commander.

He led her down to the kitchen. As she drew closer to him, he realized she reeked of smoke. He said nothing, not wanting to pry. Cullen grabbed some sausages and flapjacks whereas Myra went for oatmeal. She stirred her spoon in her bowl distractedly as they found a spot to sit outside. Blackwall waved to Myra from the stables, but she didn't notice him, still staring glumly into her oatmeal. Blackwall dropped his hand and nodded to Commander Cullen before returning to whittle away at some wood.

Cullen felt rather self-conscious digging into his meal. Myra eventually began to eat, which relieved him. He was right in suggesting she eat; the food seemed to help her mood.

"I'm sorry," she said as the dark cloud lifted off of her.

"Don't be," Cullen said. "Whatever happened must have shaken you."

"It did." Myra set her bowl of oatmeal down after finishing. "I…encountered my deceased husband in the Fade yesterday."

Cullen's eyes widened. "What?"

"It was a Despair Demon. It's been trailing me since he died."

This new information made Cullen's head spin. "You were married?"

"Bonded, the Dalish call it." Myra twisted her betrothal ring. "Suffice it to say I am bonded no more."

"I'm…so sorry to hear—"

"It has been six years, yet sometimes I still reach for his side of the bed, only to find it cold…" Myra nodded slowly. "That is why I'm grateful for Solas. He sees that, and doesn't blame me for it. 'It is hard to let go of what is lost,' he told me. He is wise, and he keeps the other side of the bed warm."

Cullen's heart cracked a little with each word, but he still managed to fake a smile for her. "You seem happy with him."

"I am," Myra said.

"I'm glad," Cullen said. "What did you do when you encountered the demon?"

"I forced myself to wake up." Myra hugged her knees. "I have not slept because I know it will tempt me down dark roads I do not wish to follow."

"Then don't follow them," Cullen turned towards her, passion overcoming him. "Inquisitor, you are stronger than you believe. I can hardly believe you would ever fall prey to a demon."

"My despair is great, it trails me everywhere I go."

"Then vanquish it," Cullen said. "I know you have it in you."

Myra chuckled a bit and smirked at him. "Commander, I never knew you thought so highly of me."

Cullen flushed and reeled back. "Everyone does."

Myra laughed a bit. "Thank you for the talk, Commander. I appreciate your support."

Cullen stood up after her. "Yes, well, you'll be picking up Fennec after school?"

"I will."

"Then, perhaps I'll see you for Fennec's training?" Cullen tried.

"Yes, perhaps you will," Myra said, smiling coyly.

She left him by the kitchen. Cullen stared dumbly after her.

* * *

Myra stood on her balcony, overlooking the moonlit Frostbacks. Earlier that day, she'd returned from the Western Approach and learned the fate of the Grey Wardens.

"Mages bound to Corypheus's will…" She shuddered, remembering the blood magic rituals the Warden mages had cast, their ungifted comrades used as sacrifices for a demon army.

"Vhenan," a familiar voice said.

Myra turned to see Solas step beside her. He draped the fur blankets of Myra's bed around his shoulders. As a chill wind blew, he drew them closer.

"The hour is late," Solas said.

Myra puffed smoke from her pipe. "Ir abelas, vhenan. Did the smell awaken you?"

"No, the smell does not bother me; your side of the bed was cold."

Myra frowned and looked away, staring from her balcony into the starry horizon. Her mind wandered in dark places. She took another drag from her pipe and exhaled a plume of smoke.

It was Darrell's pipe she used, and she held it in the same hand she wore Trewyn's betrothal ring. All these mementos she kept of the ones she lost…

"How is Fennec?" Solas asked.

"She was sleeping soundly by the time I finished her bedtime story."

"The story tonight took longer than usual," Solas said.

"She's asking for a different story now."

"Which story?"

"She enjoys hearing of Asha'bellenar, oddly enough. Perhaps the thought of justice to those who have wronged her comforts her."

"Perhaps…"

They stood in silence for a few moments, Myra taking long drags from her pipe. She occasionally puffed out perfect smoke o's, the same way Darrell used to. She wondered what had become of him now, learning what she had about the fate of the Grey Wardens. Would he be lucky enough to escape the clutches of The Calling? Stroud had sensed something awry, after all, and had become a renegade to discover the source of the mysterious beckoning to the Deep Roads. But with Darrell's affinity to self-sacrifice for the greater good, would he be so quick to shun his proclaimed duty: to forfeit his life to supposedly vanquish the archdemon? Her mind spun with questions with no answers in sight.

"Your spirit leaks with sorrow, vhenan," Solas said.

"Ir abelas," she replied.

"Din'dirthera ma abelas," he said quickly. "I merely wish to dress the wound, da'len."

Myra said nothing. The bowl neared its end and she knew she would have to pack another.

"You need not fear me, vhenan," he said. "I am without malice towards you. In fact, I am quite fond of you."

Myra sighed at herself. "You'd think I'd stop blushing by now."

"I hope you never do," Solas twirled a loose strand of her long black hair in his finger. Her hand reached for the spindleweed, then twitched and stopped. It remained inches from it for long moments, and Myra could feel the tears sting her eyes. She looked down at her pipe and clutched it in her hands. _Darrell,_ his name engraved on the side, painstakingly and precisely carved by herself, so she'd always remember. _Darrell…_

The tears flowed slowly at first. One trickle, then two. Then she clutched the pipe tightly in her hand. Pivoting on her heel, she returned to her quarters, Solas following. Before, she'd only allowed the Keeper to see her weakness, and despite their current relationship, she remained unsure if showing the scars of her heart would benefit her.

"I'm… scared." She admitted that, but nothing more.

"We've seen very troubling events recently." Solas shook his head. "I cannot believe the foolishness of the Grey Wardens."

"We'll stop them," Myra said. She looked down at the engraved pipe still clenched in her hand. "Their actions sicken me."

"Then we are in agreement," Solas brushed his hands along her arm, fingertips trailing in the darkness until they found her hands. He grabbed her pipe and placed it on the desk. "Come, vhenan, we should rest."

Myra shook her head. "Fear Demons will prey upon me. I'd best stay awake."

Solas pulled her to the bed gently. "I will protect you."

Myra could not resist him. She allowed him to guide her to bed and pull her into his arms. She curled into his chest and found as she laid in bed, that she was indeed exhausted. As the stimulation of the spindleweed wore off, she found herself slipping into slumber.

And when she arrived in the Fade, she found Spirits of Hope had already cleared out any trace of the demons that might have preyed upon her, and Solas watched over them, merely waiting for her.


	17. Chapter 17

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

* * *

Falling. Cullen didn't know how long he had been falling. He didn't know from where he'd fallen or how long it'd be until he hit the ground. All he knew was this familiar sinking feeling in his stomach, the rush of adrenaline that powered his flailing arms to grab something, anything, to catch himself. He caught nothing. The Void surrounded him. He couldn't see worth a damn…It was probably hopeless, but Cullen struggled nonetheless, trying to see through the infinite blackness, reaching, straining his arms to grasp onto something tangible… He refused to let the Void take him, not at least without a fight.  
"Oof." The ex-templar landed with a thump. He gasped, trying to recapture the wind knocked out of him, but to little avail. He still couldn't see his surroundings, but he could at least feel something underneath him. Grasping, he felt his soft bedsheets, and that helped calm him a bit. His breath started returning to him, though his chest still hurt like crazy. He laid for a moment, trying to gather himself and determine the source of the pain. It didn't have that same sear as a flesh wound, it felt more like the ache that came when he pushed himself too hard during training. He focused on steadying his breaths, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

"Does it hurt you?"

Cullen had been so focused on the pain he hadn't noticed the Inquisitor sitting on the bed next to him. "I-Inquisitor!" Light glowed off her pale, elven skin…every inch of it, seeing as she was completely unclothed. Cullen's face grew hot as he sat up quickly.

Too quickly. His head spun. Myra placed a hand over his heart and pushed him back down onto the bed.

"You must stay in bed. You need rest," she said. Her voice was light, like the tinkling of a music box.

"I…" Cullen grasped for words, but was speechless. Maker, he knew the elf was beautiful, she always made sure her armor was well-fitted, _everyone_ knew she was beautiful, but oh Maker, he couldn't stop staring at all of her perfectly chiseled curves, her pink nipples the perfect apex to her perky breasts. Her bright eyes only made her gaze all the more piercing, all the more _commanding_. He obeyed by instinct alone.

She smirked at that, trailing her dainty, delicate fingers down the middle of his chest. He gulped as she continued down, down, down…

"I-Inquisitor, please—"

"You don't want me?" Sadness overshadowed her features.

"No, no, not at—I mean, yes, yes, of course, I—" he stammered.

The elf's eyes twinkled in amusement as she leaned in closer, so close, her wine-stained lips brushed his. "Then why fight it?"

* * *

"Commander."

Cullen opened his crusty eyes. One of the recruits called from below his loft.

"Inquisitor Lavellan wants you in the War Room."

Cullen sighed and got himself out of bed.

The trip to the War Room was nothing of note. The recruits who saw him saluted and he nodded as he passed. He tried his best to rub the sleep from his eyes, chewing on a mint leaf to fix his morning breath. He wanted to at least give off some impression that he hadn't just awoken.

He entered Josephine's office. The Lady Ambassador was engrossed in her usual routine, exhibiting her mastery of multi-tasking by scrawling furiously onto one of the surely thousands of rolls of parchment she had on her desk while carrying on two separate conversations with one of her messengers and a visiting noblewoman, _and_ eating a pastry. When the Antivan saw Cullen enter, she excused herself, finishing her pastry and following the Commander. "I see you received Lady Lavellan's invitation as well."

"Of course."

They entered the hallway leading to the War Room. Josephine flipped through her stack of parchments as they walked, surely reviewing for the meeting. Further down the hall, Cullen saw Solas leaning against the wall by the door, his arms crossed and head bowed. _Brooding, as usual_ , Cullen thought, but he caught another emotion bubbling inside of him. _I know it's impossible, but I feel like he knows…_ He felt his cheeks grow hot as he remembered the dream…the Inquisitor's glowing skin and plump breasts…

"Solas," Josephine greeted the elf as they passed.

"Lady Ambassador," he greeted.

"Will you be joining us for the meeting?" Josephine asked. Cullen shrunk as the Antivan stopped to converse with the elf. He got the uncharacteristic urge to hide in the curtains.

"No, I merely wait for ma vhenan," Solas said.

"Ma vhenan?" Josephine asked.

"My heart," Solas translated.

Josephine sighed romantically.

Cullen felt an unfamiliar beast claw at his stomach. _Damn elf and his silver tongue._

"It truly is wonderful, the love you share," Josephine said.

His vision reddened. That hunger for lyrium within did not help him see any more clearly.

Cullen shook himself free of the thoughts. They said their goodbyes, Solas waiting outside while Cullen and Josephine opened the doors to the War Room.

Leliana smirked as they entered. "Cullen, Josie, how kind of you to join us."

The Inquisitor looked up at them from the War Table as they passed her, giving a sheepish smile. "I apologize for the short notice."

"Non-sense," Cullen went to say, but it came out through a yawn.

Josephine hid a smile behind the back of her hand. Myra gave a wry laugh.

"Trust me, Commander, I understand."

"Are you feeling ill?" Leliana asked.

"Pardon?" Myra asked.

"You seem exhausted."

"I've had trouble sleeping."

"I _could_ order a set of elixirs for you, Inquisitor. I know a very esteemed alchemist in Val Royeux," Josephine said.

"No, thank you Josephine. I'll be fine."

Cullen saw Josephine begin to draft a letter, he supposed to the aforementioned Orlesian. The Inquisitor looked back down to the War Table, moving the various pins and figurines around.

"Leliana, any updates on Adamant?" Myra asked.

"The fortress is preparing for siege as we speak, though given its old age, that means little."

Myra nodded. "Cullen?"

"What forces we have to spare continue to gather and march towards Adamant. We have about 5,000 soldiers already stationed at Griffon Wing Keep and 5,000 more who will arrive in the next two weeks. We will be ready to lay siege then."

"Good. Josephine, details on our alliances?"

However, as Josephine began to elaborate on the various Orlesian Houses and their stances towards the Inquisition, Cullen found himself observing the Inquisitor. The circles under her eyes seemed even darker today and her responses came out in slow drawls. _She seems absolutely exhausted…_

"Alright, all of you," Myra said. "Keep me updated on any changes. Commander, you should join me and my party as we ride to Adamant. As soon as the troops recover from their march and we have the siege equipment, we strike. Meeting adjourned."

* * *

As soon as Myra left the War Room, Solas wrapped an arm around her. "Vhenan."

She let him pull her into his arms.

"Can you imagine my dismay when I awoke to find your side of the bed cold?" He kissed her forehead.

"Ir abelas, I couldn't sleep," she said.

She could sense Solas's discomfort, but he didn't press her for more information.

"How was the meeting?"

"Everything will be ready for the assault on Adamant in two weeks' time. I want to spend the day making preparations to travel to the Western Approach."

"I'll begin to pack immediately…after making sure you are attended to."

"Mana, I'm fine," Myra groaned, trying to push him away, but he held her tight.

She heard Josephine attempt to hide a giggle as the Antivan passed the couple. Myra looked behind her to see Leliana give a small smile and nod as she passed. The Commander stepped out and paused for a moment. Their eyes met and Myra smiled despite her exhaustion. He looked away quickly and approached the pair.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Cullen said.

"Just the usual lovers' spat." Myra winked at Solas, at which he sighed.

"What do you need, Commander?" she asked.

"I wanted to know when we'd leave for the Western Approach."

"At first light tomorrow."

"Will the Commander be joining us?" Solas asked.

"Yes, hahren. That won't be a problem, will it?" She nuzzled him.

Solas took a moment longer than she thought necessary to answer, staring at the Commander. Cullen shifted uncomfortably.

"No, vhenan. Not at all," Solas finally said, pulling her closer.

"Good, we'll meet in the foyer tomorrow," Myra said, looking at the two of them.

Cullen nodded. "You know where I'll be if you need me." Myra watched him jog down the hall to catch up with the rest of the advisors. Leliana and Josephine turned and patiently awaited him before the three began to talk amongst themselves with rather serious expressions.

"Everyone is on edge," Myra said.

"As they should be. This will be a test of the Inquisition's true strength," Solas said.

"And my own."

"Do you fear?"

Myra felt her stomach sink. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't."

Solas started walking her to his study. "And is that why you've recently neglected coming to bed?"

"In a sense." For a minute, Myra thought she saw Darrell, but it was just an Inquisition scout. She shook the image from her mind.

"An uncharacteristically enigmatic response," Solas said.

"You're usually not one to pry."

Solas did not respond at first, opting to study the shard on his desk. Myra sighed, throwing herself onto his couch and lounged, studying the frescoes around the room and wondering what scenes would decorate the walls that remained blank. Part of her felt exhausted and wanted nothing more but to sink into the soft, squishy cushions and sleep, but anxiety kept her wide awake.

 _Darrell_ … She closed her eyes but could only see the vaguest impression of his face… the bright hair, crooked teeth, bulbous nose… Looking back, she supposed he never was much of a looker, but he had captured her heart with his kindness all the same. _What has become of him now?_

"I found something the other night." Solas opened a drawer and pulled out a small, wooden object.

"My pipe!" Myra grinned. "I'd been looking everywhere for it! Ma serranas—"

Solas pulled it away from her grasping hands. "You will have it, but first, a question." He turned the pipe until he found Myra's engraving. Myra's stomach sank.

"A rather eloquent engraving, despite the amateur craftsmanship. But I am most curious as to the meaning. 'Darrell'… not an elven word. Not a word in any language, in fact. I would know. While you've spent the nights an insomniac, I've delved deep into the Fade, searching for the meaning of this inscription. I came across a revelation most curious… A Grey Warden, who spent part of his youth outside of Wycome, goes by this name."

"That was private, Solas!"

"My curiosity was piqued, so I inquired of Cole if the name held any meaning to him."

Myra stammered. "W-what did he say?"

Cole suddenly appeared from the shadows of the torchlight. "Head spinning like the spring I first smoked from that pipe." He approached Solas. "Hacking, coughing, but so intoxicated by him. So different, so kind and open. Does his heart still beat or did the Wardens steal that from him as they stole him away from me? By Mythal's grace, let him live. Elgar'nan, return him to me."

Myra's eyes stung. "Cole, I thought I could trust you…"

"Solas and I want to help."

" _I don't need help!"_ Myra shot off the couch, lunging for them. Her head spun, she stumbled, leaned back, caught herself on the sofa.

Solas went to help her. "When was the last time you slept?"

Myra tried to push him away, not saying a word.

"I…can make you forget," Cole tried. "Then it won't hurt."

"No," Myra spat. "I need to remember." Her voice shook. "I always need to remember how he left me."

"Like Trewyn," Cole said.

"Like Trewyn." Myra's lips trembled and her tears spilled over. She gave up fighting and allowed Solas to draw her in close. "Promise you won't leave me."

But Solas did not make that promise. "Hush, da'len," he said. He kissed her head, never promising anything.

* * *

"Can't sleep?"

Myra turned her deep gaze from the burning campfire to glance at Cullen. He sat beside her. "No…"

"That makes two of us."

She took several short drags of the pipe. She heard rustling in the grass of the plains, but she did not fear. Halla often stirred in their sleep, and she had seen herds of them during their travel past the Exalted Plains.

"What has you up?" Myra asked, exhaling plumes of smoke.

"Withdrawal," Cullen said. "You?"

Myra was silent for a while, taking a deep inhale before blowing out perfect smoke rings. "Nerves."

Cullen chuckled. "You're quite good at that."

"Ma serranaas."

Cullen's expression spoke a question.

"It means, 'thanks.' I've had practice."

"Ah…" Cullen leaned back a bit and shifted his sitting position, resting an arm over his knee. "You know, smoking probably won't help you sleep."

"It calms me," Myra said. _I can't think of what is to come, yet I can't stop ruminating about what has passed. Darrell…_

"I'm surprised Solas isn't here with you," Cullen said. His tone was strange…a hint of some emotion Myra could not place.

"He offered to accompany me," Myra said slowly, "but I told him to get some rest. No use in both of us being sleep-deprived."

"True…"

The two sat for a few moments in silent. The crickets chirped in the grass and the owls hoo'ed into the empty night air. Myra filled it with smoke from her pipe, toking several more times. After a few moments, Myra offered the pipe to Cullen.

Cullen hesitated, then took it. He took a couple drags, then exhaled. "You know, one of my old commanders, Knight-Commander Gregor used to smoke one of these." He passed it back to her.

She took it. "Someone special to me gave me that pipe before he left." She emptied the ash on the ground and refilled the bowl with more spindleweed. With the snap of her fingers, sparks flew and lit the bowl. It continued to smoke, even after she had withdrew it from her lips.

Cullen chuckled. "Clever use of magic."

"I aim to please." Myra gave a wry smile.

"What happened to this friend of yours?"

"He wasn't a friend, and he left me, like everyone does."

Cullen remained silent.

"Sorry," Myra said.

"No, no need to apologize, I…just don't know what to say."

"Nothing to say," Myra said. "That's just the way it is, and the way it always has been." She looked at Solas's tent, then said quietly, "I wonder how long until _he_ leaves me."

Cullen leaned in towards her. "Maybe that was the way it was once, but now you have myself and an entire army that would follow you to the Void and back."

"They see me as they want to see me, if they actually talked to me—"

"We're talking now, aren't we?"

"And you would follow me to the Void and back?" Myra spat.

Cullen grabbed her hand. "Twice, you need only to lead me."

Myra blushed. Cullen looked down and quickly withdrew his hand, flushing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—Well, I did—What I'm trying to say is—"

Myra giggled.

"You're—erm—laughing?"

"You're cute. Thank you for talking to me, Commander. For the first time in a while, I feel hopeful." She yawned. "I think I can finally sleep." She walked to her and Solas's shared tent, but did not enter immediately. Turning back, she smiled at him, grateful.

"Good night, Commander, and sweet dreams."


	18. Chapter 18

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

* * *

The walls of Adamant Fortress shook as the Inquisition laid siege. The air hung heavy with dust and smoke. Captains shouted orders to their troops; drums beat. The sky rained with arrows. Soldiers cried out.

The sharp smell of blood stung as Myra and her party fought their way through Adamant. An arrow whizzed past. A Shriek charged her. She dodged. With a whir, her Spirit Blade took form. The Shriek cried as she buried her sword deep within.

Blackwall charged in front. He raised his shield. A second Shriek scraped the metal.

The warmth of a barrier surrounded Myra. She sourced it to Solas. He threw lightning. It cracked through the Shrieks.

Myra's heart pounded. "Solas, behind you!"

Cole stabbed the oncoming Shriek. It cried out. Solas's form blurred. Fade Step, out of the way. Cole stabbed the Shriek once more. His daggers dug in.

Myra whirred her blade and finished the Shriek. "Coast clear, let's move!"

They regrouped and pushed further inside the fortress.

"Have the Wardens gone mad?" Myra awed.

"Mad with purpose," Blackwall said.

"Mad with power," Solas growled.

"They're hurting people," Cole murmured.

"We have to stop them," Myra said.

She kicked open the door.

"Inquisition!" cried a Warden.

 _Perhaps they can be reasoned with._

"We do not wish to fight, only to stop Clarel!" Myra called to them. "Please, get to shelter!"

"Myra?!"

Her heart stopped. A senior Warden clamored towards the group. Solas drew his staff but Cole lowered it.

It was the voice that spoke of summer days and lost love. He removed his helm.

"Myra, it's me! Wardens, at ease!"

Stroud looked between the two. "You…know each other?"

Darrell ran and swept her up in his arms, spinning her around. Even when buzzed short, his hair still shone bright as a flame. That bulbous nose, those crooked teeth, oh, how she'd missed it all.

"Darrell!" Myra hugged him back. "Is it really you?"

"Is it really _you_? You look, so much… _older_. No, it has to be you," he pushed a matted hair from her eyes, "I couldn't forget this face."

"Not to interrupt the happy reunion," Blackwall said, "but…"

"We need to get to Warden-Commander Clarel." Myra looked into Darrell's bright eyes. "Do you know where she is?"

"She's with Erimond, preparing for the ritual."

"Ritual?" Stroud said.

"We have to stop them!" Solas cried.

Darrell grabbed Myra's arms. "I'll go with you."

"No, Darrell, please," she tried to push him away, "take shelter with your troops until the fighting's over."

"If you think I'm leaving you again…" Darrell said.

"I can't lose you again…" Myra said.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Inquisitor…" Stroud said. She looked back. He motioned her onward.

"Fine," Myra said.

Darrell smiled, then turned back to his troops. "Wardens, find shelter until I return!"

"Yes, ser!"

Myra and Darrell led the party onward. They reached the battlements. A trebuchet hit mere feet in front of them. Darrell held Myra steady.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. Looking into those eyes through his helm made her fall in love all over again.

"Our soldiers can't get through!" Stroud said.

"Clear the area around the ladders!" Blackwall said.

Her party made quick work clearing the first ladder, but the second one proved more difficult.

A Pride Demon stomped through the battlements. It grabbed an Inquisition soldier and threw them off.

"Solas, Stroud, help the soldiers!" Myra cried. She cast a barrier. "The rest, cover me, I'm going in!"

"Myra, wait!" Solas started to yell, but she'd already charged in. "Fenedhis lasa!'

Myra's Spirit Blade whirred to life. She leapt and stabbed. The creature reeled back in pain. Myra held on tight as it shook. When she didn't dislodge, it reached behind her. Myra uncast her Blade and fell to the ground.

"Myra!" Solas cried.

Myra felt her heart stop. The demon's fist rocketed towards her. She froze.

Darrell leapt in front, shield outreached. The demon flailed once more.

"It's weak! Attack now!" Myra called.

Darrell yanked her by her collar. They ran out of reach.

Solas and Stroud struggled with two Despair Demons. She clutched her stomach, which turned to ice in recollection.

"Kill Pride, I've got a score to settle with Despair," she growled.

Darrell nodded. He knew.

In a blur, Myra Fade Stepped into combat. "Solas, dispel the left. I'll take right!"

The demons' barriers fell, Cole backstabbed one, Stroud jabbed the other. Myra and Solas cast Chain Lightning. The demons froze in paralysis.

Finally, the demons fell.

"We must hurry," Solas cried. "Our soldiers cannot withstand the demons for long!"

"Myra!" Hawke ran to them. "Thank the Maker you're here!"

"Hawke," Myra said. "Help the soldiers, we're going after Clarel."

"I'm on it! I'll catch up to you!"

They reached Clarel, Erimond, and the remaining Wardens just before they began the ritual.

"Clarel, don't do this. Don't fall for Erimond's trap!" Myra called out.

"What trap?" Erimond cried. "Fighting the Blight? Do not keep the Wardens from their duty!"

"Binding mages to Corypheus?" Stroud said.

Clarel stepped back. "But…Corypheus is dead…"

"Do not waver now," Erimond growled. "We are so close."

"Please," Myra said. "The Wardens have a proud history. You have fought the Blight, sacrificed yourselves to save the people, time and time again."

Solas scoffed, but Darrell grabbed her hand and held it tight.

Myra pulled Darrell closer to her. "I am intimately tied to the Grey Wardens. I would not oppose you if I did not believe you were being misused!"

Clarel stood silent for a moment.

Erimond looked positively furious. "Clarel…"

Her voice trembled as she spoke, as though awakening from a terrible nightmare. "Perhaps we can test the validity of these claims."

"You bitch." Erimond began the ritual himself, pulling a Pride Demon from a massive Fade Rift. "My master prepared for this."

Clarel's face turned bright red in anger. "Bastard, you've been using us this whole time!" She shocked him with a blast of lightning.

Myra grinned, only for her jaw to drop.

The fortress shook as an enormous black dragon landed atop a nearby tower. Its scales shone black as smoke. It breathed foul energy, blasting bright red between Clarel and Erimond. Suddenly, lightning crackled through its massive form. Clarel had shocked it, but the dragon merely shook off what seemed little more than a nuisance.

Erimond bolted away. Clarel charged after him.

"Clarel!" Myra cried.

"After her!" Hawke said.

The pursuit began. Shrieks and Terrors gasped at them. They sidestepped. They parried. They shook them off. Myra wheezed. Sheer willpower kept her going at full-speed.

The dragon joined in pursuit. It stuck its head in after them and blasted foul, red energy.

"Columns!" Blackwall called. He tugged Myra back with him. Myra trembled.

She heard its huge wings take to the skies, felt the fortress sigh as the dragon disappeared.

Everyone breathed for a moment.

"Let's move!" Myra said.

The pursuit continued. Myra took the steps two at a time, shoving past soldiers and demons alike, her party following in suit. Finally, she caught sight of them.

Clarel had cornered Erimond on a broken bridge.

"You!" She shot fire. "You corrupted the Grey Wardens!"

He writhed in pain. Then, he laughed. "All I had to do was dangle a little power in front of you and you were eager to get your hands bloody."

Clarel snarled. She ripped energy across the Veil and shot. It pushed him further to the edge of the bridge. She threw every spell Myra knew and more at him, each blast pushing him closer and closer to that immense drop. He cried and begged for his master's aid. He laughed and choked.

Finally, just as she went to kick him off the edge, the dragon swooped down and snatched her into its gaping jaws. Blood spurted about. Myra closed her eyes, heard the thump of Clarel's surely lifeless body. _No…_

"Myra!" Darrell grabbed her hand and yanked her. They ran. The dragon circled overhead. She could hear the flapping of its massive wings.

"In war, victory…"

Myra heard Clarel's feeble voice as she passed.

"In peace, vigilance…"

She looked back as she ran. Started to turn. Started towards her…

 _In death, sacrifice._

An enormous energy shot from Clarel's fingertips, straight into the dragon. It tumbled down from the sky and landed on top of her. The bridge shivered, then began to crumble.

Myra took off running once more. Everyone was leagues ahead of her. Her legs were so tired, her heart pounded in her chest. All she could see was the other side of the bridge.

Then, she felt it…falling…

She looked upwards at the sky, saw her companions begin to fall into the cavernous depths beneath the fortress. Surely, the fall would kill them.

 _No. Not yet._

She wasn't sure what voice spoke in her mind, only that she should listen. She twisted in the air, facing the ground, and with a last burst of energy, summoned a Fade Rift beneath them.

She watched the green energy crackle beneath them, then she clenched her eyes shut.

 _Please, please, open…_

She felt her falling slow, the world turned upside down, and then…

 _Thump!_

The companions landed into the Fade.

* * *

"The stories say you walked out of the Fade at Haven," Hawke said. "Was it like this?"

"I...don't know…I still can't remember," Myra said. It had been so long since someone had asked her to remember the events at the Conclave. The gaping hole in her memory continued to scare her.

"Well, whatever happened at Haven, we can't assume we're safe now," Hawke said.

"In our world, the Rift the demons came through was nearby, in the main hall. Can we escape the same way?" Stroud asked.

Myra spotted the Rift he spoke of on the horizon. "Only one way to find out."

Myra began to lead them. Darrell kept close by. "Is this what the Fade looks like? You know, when you dream?"

"It varies depending on your location," Solas answered, walking between the two. "This is not the area I would have chosen, of course, but to physically walk within the Fade…" He sighed. "This is fascinating."

"Just don't be distracted by your studies. The Fade is still a dangerous place," Blackwall said.

Solas's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Thank you for the warning."

Myra snickered. "Solas, you're the expert on this place," Myra said. "Anything helpful?"

He looked to her and smiled. "The Fade is shaped by intent and emotion. Remain focused and it will lead you where you want to go." He closed his eyes as he walked, as if tuning into the energies surrounding them. "The demon that controls this area is extremely powerful. Some variety of Fear, I would guess. I suggest you remain wary of its manipulations and prepare yourself for what is certain to be a _fascinating experience._ "

Myra shivered a bit in pleasure. Darrell looked between the two of them. Myra cleared her throat.

They pushed further ahead through the strange twists and turns of the Fade. The area they explored seemed to have a ghastly green glow to it and was cave-like with the slimy rocks that lined the paths.

Myra led her party up the stairs only to be greeted with a jaw-dropping sight.

"By the Maker, could that be…?" Stroud said.

An old, Orlesian woman stood before them, dressed in the Divine's garbs. "I greet you Warden," she said. "And you, Champion."

"Divine Justinia?" Myra said.

She smiled.

"From the little I remember of what happened at Haven, I…thought you were dead," Myra said.

"You think my survival impossible," the Divine said. "Yet here you stand alive in the Fade yourselves. In truth, proving my existence either way would require time we do not have." Her eyes twinkled. "I am here to help you. You do not remember what happened at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, Inquisitor."

"No, I don't," Myra said.

"The memories that you lost were stolen by a demon that serves Corypheus. It is the Nightmare that you forget upon waking…It feeds off memories of fear and darkness, growing fat upon the terror. The false calling that terrified the Wardens into making such mistakes? Its work. This place of darkness is its lair."

"Can you help us get out of the Fade?" Myra asked.

"That is why I found you. Before you left the Rift at Haven, the demon took your memories. I have them here, for you, Inquisitor."

She outstretched her hand for Myra to come closer. Myra looked to Solas. He nodded and ushered her on.

Myra touched the Divine's hand. She cried out in pain. Her head ached, felt as though it might explode.

She saw the Warden mages holding the Divine hostage, Corypheus holding the orb towards the Divine, stealing her energy. She saw herself kick the door down to the room. "What's going on here?!" The Divine smacked the orb from the magister's grasp. Myra caught it as it rolled towards her. It seared into her flesh. She screamed as a Fade Rift consumed them.

Then, they were running, her and the Divine. They climbed to the top of a mountain to reach the Fade Rift, Fear Demons chased them. Myra reached for the Divine's hand, but the Divine was just out of reach. Finally, Justinia drew back. "Go, warn them!"

Myra shook her head. "I'm sorry," and jumped through the Rift.

…

Someone drew their sword. "What did you do to her?" Darrell cried.

Solas's voice. "Peace, Warden, she lives."

Cole spoke. "She is helping. Let her help."

"She's waking up!" Hawke cried.

Myra struggled to sit up. Solas gently lifted her to her feet. "Are you alright, vhenan?"

She had doubled over. Her head still ached.

"Yes, I'm fine." She stood with his help.

"Vhenan…" Darrell said. "You used to call me that." His features depressed. "I guess I couldn't expect you to wait forever."

Myra frowned. "Darrell, I…" But what could she say? No, she couldn't wait forever. Grey Wardens rarely return to previous lovers.

"So the Mark wasn't from Andraste, but from the Anchor," Stroud said.

"Corypheus intended to rip open the Veil, use the Anchor to enter the Fade, and throw open the doors of the Black City," the Divine said. "Not for the Old Gods, but for himself. When you disrupted his plan, the Orb bestowed the anchor upon you instead."

"I never thought this was Andraste's doing," Myra said. "I did this myself, through my actions."

"And now you can be certain," the Divine said. "I will prepare the way ahead." She disappeared.

* * *

"So…we have a visitor…" A deep voice rumbled through the rocks.

"You must get to the Fade Rift and slam it closed with all your strength!" The Divine said as she led them onward.

They came to a final clearing, where a tall, monstrous creature with spider legs protruding from its back stood, waiting for them. Its spider legs twitched and swayed as it spoke. An enormous, spider-like creature stared down at them from above. "Some silly little girl comes to steal the Fear I kindly lifted from her shoulders…" The persona of the Nightmare laughed. The spider legs writhed with his laughter. "You think the pain will make you stronger? Who filled your head with such dribble?"

It started towards them. She drew her staff.

"Do you truly think he'll stay with you?" the demon whispered. "He's going to leave you, just like Trewyn. Just like Darrell. He'll never come back. You will be alone."

"Quiet!" Myra cried.

"Do not let it shake you," Solas said. "Do not give it power. Fight it."

Myra bit her lip hard, then spit at the Nightmare. "Darrell came back, and I'll return to Trewynn in the Beyond. Solas is beside me. I am not alone!"

It cackled. "You will be soon."

The fight began. It danced around the party, summoning its minions to do its dirty work, but Myra, fueled by rage, had none of it. She followed its dance around the battlefield and sliced with her Spirit Blade, chipping away at its strength.

When it finally crumbled, Myra and her party started for the Rift. The spider-like monster, the Nightmare itself, began to chase them.

"Someone needs to buy us time," Hawke said.

"A Warden created this mess, a Warden should fix it," Stroud said.

"A Warden needs to fix it on the other side of that Rift. Corypheus is my responsibility!"

"I'll do it."

Myra looked to see Darrell standing behind her.

"Darrell, no…"

"We don't have time to argue, Myra," he said.

Myra shook her head. "No, Darrell, you can't."

"Get to the Fade Rift. I'll cover your escape."

"Darrell, no! I love you!" Myra said. The tears fell all too readily. She wiped at them furiously. "Please don't go. Please don't leave me again, I can't…"

He took off his helm, threw it, and kissed her. Kissed her to stop her from arguing. Kissed her one last time.

"Go."

"No!"

He motioned to someone behind her.

"You heard the man, he said ' _Go!'_ " Blackwall picked her up and heaved her over his shoulder.

"Darrell, no!" Myra cried. She kicked, screamed, pounded at his back, but it was too late. Blackwall dragged her through the Fade Rift as she screamed her lost-love's name.

Darrell gave her one last look before he disappeared from view entirely.


	19. Chapter 19

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

* * *

"Solas?" Myra stood outside their tent and waited. When there was no response, she peeked her head in. "Vhenan?"

"Yes?" Solas did not turn to face her.

Myra stepped inside slowly. Something didn't feel right. But then again, nothing felt right. Not since Darrell… She shook away the thoughts. "Soldiers are rolling out kegs. It seems there's an impromptu celebration."

Solas gave an annoyed sigh as he turned the pages of his book. "What is there to celebrate? The Grey Wardens remain."

Myra crossed her arms. "I made my decision."

"And I am free to react to it."

"By granting me nothing more than your cold shoulder?"

Solas did not turn around, seemingly engrossed in the text. He turned the page.

"Dirthera, hah'ren," Myra begged.

"You knew how I felt about the Wardens; ergo, you _knew_ how I would feel allowing them to stay!"

"I thought you would still support me," Myra cried, "support my decision! We're fighting a _darkspawn_ magister."

Solas shook his head, as though all she was saying was nonsensical.

"What if there's another Blight?" Myra asked. "The Wardens are the only ones who can slay an Archdemon—"

" _Enough!_ " Solas slammed his book shut. "You will not speak to me regarding these subjects!"

"What subjects?"

"You know nothing! You are an ignorant forest dweller who knows nothing of the past, or preserving it!"

Myra's heart sank. She felt her eyes sting, and then tears overflowed all at once.

"Leave me," Solas said, quietly.

The Inquisitor left, sobbing.

* * *

Myra guzzled down her drink. She watched the troops dance and merry-make around her, but she could not bring herself to join in their sentiment.

Drunken thoughts drifted through her mind and despite having Dorian there to help nurse her fractured heart with liquor, the pain remained.

"First Trewynn, then Darrell, and now Solas…"

Dorian clicked his tongue. "That's the third time. Another shot." He passed her a shotglass of whiskey which she downed quickly. At least, she thought it was whiskey.

"Fen'Harel, what is that?"

Dorian took a shot and twisted his mouth thoughtfully. "Grey Whiskey from Adamant. If I were to guess, I'd say it's a mix of Butterbile and Bootscreech."

Myra wrinkled her nose. "Is that all we have?"

"What an excellent question!" Dorian leaned back in his chair. "Be a dear and go ask for me? This chair suddenly became quite comfortable."

The Inquisitor sighed. "Fair enough."

She made her way through the crowds. Elgar'nan, there were so many people! She could hardly see the makeshift bar of ration boxes through the conglomeration of soldiers, Grey Wardens, and mages, and even some of the ex-templars, celebrating. In the center of the all the chaos these people square danced with one another. It was a novel sight, Grey Wardens dancing with Templars, mages dancing with the troops…then partners switching and suddenly mages were dancing with Templars! In the midst of the hoedown, Myra barely had time to catch sight of Iron Bull and Krem approaching her with rather menacing looks on their faces.

"Oh no…" But before Myra could disappear back into the throng, they had grabbed her by either side.

"Got her, Chief!" Krem shouted in her ear.

"Excellent! C'mon, boss, you're not going to sit out _all night_!" They dragged her to the dance floor.

"I don't wanna!" Myra cried, but to no avail. Bull left her with Krem in favor of a redheaded soldier, and Krem led her through the dance. She stumbled a few times, but with the rhythmic stomping of everyone around her, her feet found the beat.

Krem laughed. "There you got it!"

A grin flashed across her face as she skipped in circles with the warrior. He twirled her a bit to her next partner, a fellow mage who looked positively shocked to see the Inquisitor as her dance partner.

Myra smiled. "Come on!" And just like that, they were dance partners.

She danced with Sera next, who had her laughing so hard she nearly puked as she narrated the thoughts of the couples around them, particularly those who looked uncomfortable. " _Maker's breath, his breath smells just like grandpapa's! Quick, think of the Seeker, think of the Seeker! Muuuch better."_

Myra choked on her own spit laughing and was practically hacking up a lung by the time she was thrown to her next partner.

"I-Inquisitor!"

She looked up to see Cullen staring down at her in bewilderment.

"C-Comm-and…" she started coughing uncontrollably again, which caused her to break out in laughter and nearly tumble over.

Cullen held her steady amidst all the dancing couples around them. "Are you alright? Do you want me to get you something? I can get you some water."

Myra tried to grasp for him to keep him there, but her hands were weak from her coughing and laughter, so without thinking, she merely started falling again. And as expected, he caught her once more.

"I'm fine, Commander," she wheezed. "Just a little out of breath."

"Let's sit you down," he said, leading her out of the crowd of dancers. His touch was so gentle, and with his armor off and only soft cotton shirt and trousers, Myra wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms and nuzzle him for the rest of the night. That in and of itself immediately alerted her. "Commander, I'm so drunk!"

His eyes widened. She must have been slurring. "How much have you had?"

"I lost count. Ask Dorian. Elgar'nan, he probably doesn't even know." She felt the world starting to spin under her feet now that she wasn't moving.

"Where's Solas?" Cullen asked. "He could probably help."

Myra's eyes welled up. "Solas…Solas isn't here."

"What?" Cullen's grip tightened around her.

"Ow!" Myra pawed at his hand.

"Sorry. Where is he?"

"In his tent, probably being all broody about the Wardens."

"He's not happy with your decision?"

Myra sniffled. "No, he hates my decision and he hates me." The alcohol made it all too easy for the tears to spill over once more. The floodgates opened and Myra was sobbing into herself.

"Erm, ah…" Cullen fidgeted next to her. "Andraste guide me…" He awkwardly patted her back. "I, erm…Maker, we should get you to your tent."

"No! Solas is there, and he hates me!"

"He doesn't hate you. Come on, let's get you out of sight at least. Can you walk?"

Myra nodded and stood up. Her legs felt wobbly beneath her.

Cullen slung her arm over his shoulder. "Better?"

"Thank you. You're so nice. My Keeper would chastise me. 'Da'len, you disgrace your clan.' If Solas were here he'd probably touch my hair. I love him so much. I should have exiled the Wardens."

"Do not second-guess your decisions," Cullen said, walking her to a less populated area of Griffon Wing Keep.

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Myra asked.

"For what it's worth, yes, I do."

"That's worth a lot. That means a lot."

Cullen sat her down on top of the battlements. The stars shown above and the moon was full.

"Commander, you're the best," Myra said. "Can I kiss you?"

"W-what? No, I—" Cullen laughed awkwardly. "How drunk are you?"

Myra frowned. "You don't want me?" She leaned in for the kiss. Of course he wanted her, everyone wanted her if she put out enough. It worked with Blackwall, why not Cullen?

"I—never said—Yes, erm, no, I—" Cullen pushed her away. "You're with Solas, and it wouldn't be right."

Myra felt her eyes droop. She curled up in Cullen's lap. "I'm sleepy."

"Maker's Breath…"

Cullen's lap was so warm and comfortable. Myra felt herself drifting off.

"I…" Cullen began, then he stopped. "Are you asleep?"

Myra fought the drowsiness. "Not yet…"

Cullen chuckled. "You are a puzzle. Sleep well, Inquisitor."

* * *

"I see she's decided to keep other company."

Cullen looked to see Solas approach. His fists clenched. "She was drunk off her ass, crying. I took her out of public eye."

"And did not think to return her to my care?" Solas crossed his arms.

"She refused," Cullen said. "She was convinced you _hated_ her."

Solas sighed and murmured something in elvish. "I could never hate her." He murmured some more in elvish, a look of profound sadness and love overcoming his features. Then, he turned back to address Cullen. "My thanks for watching over her, Commander. I shall relieve you of your duty."

But Cullen didn't move. _If he thinks I'm going to just give her to him after what he did…_

"Commander," Solas took a step towards him, his stance aggressive. "Do you doubt my ability to care for her?"

Cullen snorted. "If causing her to drink herself into a stupor is your idea of caring, then I simply doubt whether you're good for her." He shut his mouth quickly, but the words had already tumbled out.

Solas retracted his step. His expressions went cold. "…Perhaps you're right, but you know nothing of my feelings for her, nor the ones she reciprocates. It would be unwise to speak in ignorance."

It took Cullen several moments, during which he pondered the elf's words, before he stood. After all, it wasn't his place anymore, now that Solas had returned to claim her. Myra stirred in her sleep and whimpered as Cullen moved her. She reached for him as he left, but upon feeling Solas replace him, she calmed and slipped back into slumber.

* * *

The time it took to travel back to Skyhold following the assault on Adamant only seemed to elongate by the day. Their progress felt like a slow crawl to Myra, and her restless nights did not help matters.

She sat by the campfire, staring into its crackling depths while smoking her pipe. Cassandra read her guilty pleasure, the latest issue of _Swords and Shields_. Most of the others had already retired to their tents for the night. Cullen had decided to stay behind and help organize the Grey Wardens with the Inquisition forces.

"Da'len." Solas left his and Myra's shared tent to beckon her. "Melana ashir _(Time to sleep)_."

"Tel'ashir. ( _No sleep)_ " Myra said. "I cannot."

"Tel'enfenim, da'len. ( _Do not fear, child._ ) I will protect you from anything that haunts you." Solas's voice was desperate. It broke her heart.

"I can't. Ir abelas, hahren. Get some rest."

Solas sighed and seemed to recognize his efforts were futile. He returned to their tent, leaving her and Cassandra alone.

The two women sat in silence for a while, Cassandra reading her book and Myra smoking from Darrell's pipe. The stars shown overhead and the crickets chirped into the night air. The peace of the Exalted Plains contrasted with the tumultuous storm that churned inside Myra. Her heart reflected the moonless sky, the campfire and glowing embers in her pipe the only stars, the only simple pleasures she could enjoy…

Suddenly, Cassandra spoke. "Are you two alright?" She pulled a ribbon through the spine of her book, marking her place.

"I don't know," Myra said.

"I heard about what happened…with the Grey Warden." Cassandra closed her book.

"We were lovers once, but that door has closed…permanently."

"I am sorry for your loss."

Myra shook her head. "He died a hero, but I didn't want a hero. I know that's selfish of me."

"It is, but not without reason." The Seeker moved to sit closer to her friend. "I noticed your… _intoxication_ the other night."

"You and half the Inquisition."

"No matter, I was wondering if the Grey Warden was the cause or if there were, perhaps, other influences."

"There were others."

"What were they?"

Myra heaved a sigh. Packing another bowl of spindleweed, she began to smoke more.

"You reek of smoke."

"We all have our vices."

"Inquisitor." Cassandra huffed. "I worry about you."

"I appreciate your concern."

"If you truly appreciate it, let me help you."

Myra said nothing, continuing to toke on her pipe. She still blew perfect smoke rings.

Cassandra sighed. "Are you happy?"

"What does it matter?"

"You are my _friend_ …" Words caught in Cassandra's throat. She huffed and scowled before she shot up, fists clenched. Whether she was going to head towards her tent or beat some sense into Myra, the Inquisitor was unsure. She took it the Seeker didn't know either. Finally, Cassandra grabbed her book and stormed to her tent.

"Cass!" Myra called after her. "Cass! I'm sorry…" But it was no use, the Seeker would not answer her.

Myra waited for the tears to come, but they wouldn't. She felt on the verge of losing everyone important to her, but she couldn't find herself to care, bitter apathy filling her being.

She was so busy packing another bowl of spindleweed, she did not notice Solas's arrival until he spoke.

"Ir abelas," he said.

"Tel'abelas _(I'm not [sorry])_. I thought you were asleep."

"The yelling awoke me." He sat beside her. "Cassandra does not possess the patience I have."

"No," Myra said. "Neither did my Keeper."

"It is a good thing I am not your Keeper."

She let him pull her into his arms.

"You are not alone, da'len," he said.

"It feels like I am." Myra sighed in frustration. Her head ached. "I know I have people, but I cannot let go of those I have lost."

"I am familiar with the feeling." Solas kissed her temple. "If you shall grieve, da'len, as I shall grieve, let us grieve together."

Myra nestled into his chest. "I'd like that."

Her pipe sat half-empty for the remainder of the night, and when the fire died, she finally found her way into slumber.


	20. Chapter 20

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

* * *

Myra and her companions were among the first to return to Skyhold following the siege on Adamant Fortress.

"I'm going to check on Fennec," Myra told the group. Blackwall led her horse to the stable.

She found Fennec in the courtyard, playing with wooden swords with one of the children. They were so engrossed they did not notice her approach. With a sweeping gesture, Myra blasted the play-swords out of their hands.

"Hey!" Fennec whipped about, looking for the source of the disruption. When her gaze found Myra, her face lit up.

"Myra!" she cried, running to her arms. Myra knelt and caught her foster child, wrapping her up. "I missed you," Fennec mumbled into her.

Myra squeezed her. "I missed you too, my child."

"Didja win?"

"Who told you?"

"William, from my class."

"Yes, we won."

"I'm happy you're back."

"As am I."

They let go of one another. Fennec grabbed her hand and began to lead her to the stables.

"Everyone was gone," she said.

"We are back now."

"Cullen too?"

"Not yet. He is leading the troops."

"I hope he comes home soon." Fennec hopped down the steps that led to the lower courtyard. "I miss him."

Myra hopped down with her. "I'm certain he misses you too."

The Inquisitor requested updates on the army's progress to Skyhold often. Leliana's gaze began to twinkle as the days passed.

"Are you certain you make these requests for Fennec?" Leliana asked with a sly smile.

Myra flushed despite herself. "Of course, why else would I—?"

Leliana chuckled. "Forget I mentioned it."

But Myra could not forget how her mind conjured Cullen's image when her cheeks flushed, with his lopsided smile and hazel eyes that either blazed with passion or softened with care when he spoke. She fought to forget the nights they spent smoking from her pipe and talking through their insomnia, but she couldn't.

She was grateful the day he led the troops to Skyhold. Fennec ran to greet him and he hugged her.

"Welcome back, Commander," Myra said with a coy smile.

"Quite the welcome," he said. Something about him seemed off, though.

"Are you feeling alright?" Myra asked.

Cullen released Fennec. The child looked up at him, sharing in Myra's concern.

"Fine." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just…need to find Cassandra. Excuse me."

He left for the armory. Myra and Fennec exchanged looks.

"I don't think he's fine," Fennec said slowly, drawing close to her foster mother.

Myra pet her hair. "I don't think so either." She patted the child towards the stables. "Why don't you play with the horses? I'll check on him."

"Good luck," Fennec said. She scurried off.

Myra headed to the armory. She could hear Cassandra and Cullen's yelling grow louder the closer she got.

"You asked for my opinion, and I've given it," Cassandra called. "Why would you expect it to change?"

"I expect you to keep your word," Cullen replied. "It's relentless. I can't—"

"You give yourself too little credit."

"If I'm unable to fulfill what vows I kept, then nothing good has come of this."

Myra entered the armory to see the Commander closing in on the Seeker, his features aggressive and taxed.

"Would you rather save face than admit—?"

The two backed away from each other upon Myra's approach. Cullen's anger evaporated, his features turning to despair.

"Forgive me," he murmured to her as he left the armory.

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "And people say I'm stubborn. This is ridiculous." She turned to Myra and crossed her arms. "Cullen told you that he's no longer taking lyrium?"

Myra nodded. "He's mentioned withdrawal before. I respect his decision."

"As do I. Not that he's willing to listen." She sighed. "Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It's not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far."

Myra nodded. "He's doing well. From what I've read, most Templars would have gone mad by now." She crossed her arms and sighed. "Is there any way we can change his mind?"

"If anyone could, it's you," Cassandra said.

"Me?"

"You are the Inquisitor, and more so, you are his friend. He is…" Cassandra closed her mouth quickly, as though the words caught on her tongue. "He respects you."

"And I respect him," Myra said. "Alright, Cass, if you think it will help, I'll talk to him."

Cassandra nodded. "Thank you."

Myra started for the door only to stop.

"Inquisitor."

She turned back around at Cassandra's beckon.

"About the other night—"

Myra's face twisted and she averted her gaze quickly. "Cass, I'm—"

"I hope you know—"

They both stopped and looked to each other in tacit understanding. Cassandra smiled a bit and Myra returned it.

"Thank you for being my friend," Myra said.

"And thank you for being mine."

With that, Myra left to the Commander's office.

Upon entering, she was greeted by a lyrium pipe hurled in her direction, shattering against the wall.

"Maker's breath! I didn't hear you enter! I—" Cullen leaned over his desk, crestfallen. "Forgive me."

"Cullen," Myra gently stepped around the shattered glass. "If you need to talk…"

"You don't have to—" He yelped and stumbled, catching himself on the corner of his desk. Myra rushed over to help him but he held out his hand, keeping her at arm's length. "I never meant for this to interfere."

"I know that." It pained her to see the Commander's expression so sullen.

"For whatever good it does," Cullen gave a wry chuckle. "Promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them."

Cullen shook his head and turned around towards the window behind him, hiding his weakness.

"When I was stationed in Ferelden's Circle," he began, "it was overrun by abominations. They killed the Templars—my friends—and tortured me, tried to break my mind. How can someone remain the same person after that?" Cullen rested his head against the stone, staring out the window. "Still, I wanted to serve, so I was transferred to Kirkwall. I trusted the Knight-Commander, only to have her fear of mages drive her to madness. Innocent people were slaughtered in the streets."

"Cullen," Myra grasped for his shoulder. "I understand—"

"No, you don't!" Cullen yelled.

"Yes, I do," Myra said. "To you, I am Inquisitor, but I am also an orphan and a widow, those closest to me stolen by shemlen." The word still felt dirty on her lips. She shook her head, ashamed at herself. "Years passed and I let my hatred control me. I understand what it's like to see the world in black-and-white only to have the two convoluted before your eyes."

"I believe you," Cullen said. "But I can't do this." He paced back and forth between his desk and the bookcase. "I will not give less to the Inquisition than I did to the Chantry. I should be taking it!" He punched the bookcase. "I should be taking it."

Myra grabbed his clenched fist and held it tight. "Don't."

"I can't." His eyes squeezed shut. "I can't."

"Forget the Inquisition, Cullen. Is lyrium what you want?" Myra asked.

He paused, sighed, then shook his head. "No…But…what if I can't?"

Myra unraveled his fist. "Look at me."

He obeyed. His hazel gaze met hers. They looked tired, bags sagging beneath them. The number of wrinkles from stress had only multiplied in his absence. But when he looked at her, something sparked inside that otherwise tired gaze. Life…hope? A trill of tension filled the air, waiting for resolution.

"You can do this," she finally said.

He relaxed all-at-once and gave a lop-sided smile. "Thank you," he sighed.

Myra nodded. "Of course." Then, in the spur of the moment, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. She conjured a rush of strength and passed it on to him. "I believe in you."

He wrapped his strong arms around her, his armor poking into her, but she didn't care. The fur lining down his shoulder and chest was so soft.

"I…" He paused, not quite knowing what to say. "Thank you."

She pulled away. Cullen seemed a little slow to let go.

"I'm always here if you need to talk," she said

"Thank you, Inquisitor," he said.

Again, that tension, that trill…waiting for resolution, but she ignored it and left him to his thoughts.

* * *

When the night came, Myra went to check if Fennec was in bed, but she wasn't in her room. Twisting her mouth, she headed towards Solas's study.

"Vhenan, dar'iras ma da'len? (where is my child?)"

"She is not here," Solas said. "I assumed she was sleeping."

"Ir abelas. I did not mean to disturb you." Myra made to leave.

"Din'dirthera ma abelas. Do you require assistance locating her?"

Myra shook her head, but kissed him. "Ma serranaas, but no, hahren. It has been a long journey and you are weary. I will join you in bed once I've found her." There was one more place she knew Fennec would be.

She headed out the door to the battlements and knocked on the door to Cullen's office.

"It's open," he said.

Myra walked in. "I apologize, Commander, I was merely—"

"She's upstairs, asleep." Cullen stood quickly. "I apologize. I meant to take her to her bed hours ago, but the reports just kept coming in." Cullen sighed, climbing the ladder and bringing Fennec down. "I hope I didn't worry you."

"No, I figured she'd be in here." Myra smiled, taking Fennec from his arms and holding her close. "She's grown quite fond of you, Commander." Myra made her way to the door, Fennec in arms. "And she's not the only one."


	21. Chapter 21

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

* * *

Cullen's head spun as he tried to fall asleep, but he couldn't. Not with those wine-stained lips stuck in his mind.

' _She's grown quite fond of you…and she's not the only one.'_

"What does that even mean?" Cullen sighed, turning over in bed. After an hour of trying to sleep to no avail, he stood and walked to the dresser. Maybe a walk would help clear his head. He threw on some trousers, a shirt, and a fur-lined coat before exiting his room. He started making rounds of the battlements. He tried to think of work-related topics: army size, weapon shipments, military alliances…but his mind always returned to the same place. _Myra_.

He knew it was wrong. Damn it, it was _so_ wrong. She was with Solas, she had a child…But still he couldn't shake her tired gaze that sparked, even the tiniest amount, when their eyes met. But who was to say that spark was nothing more than recognition, or appreciation, or even a platonic fondness.

He was fond of her, and she of him, as she'd admitted today, but how far did that fondness go? Could it even be possible for her to return his feelings?

No, damn these thoughts, damn them all. She was his leader. His strong-willed, cunning, beautiful…

"Commander?"

Cullen looked up from his rumination to see Myra herself. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, strands curling prettily around her face. _I never knew she had curls._

"Inquisitor." Cullen settled beside her. "It's late. I didn't think anyone would be up."

Myra laughed a bit. "I don't know the last time I got a good night's sleep."

"You're telling me…" Cullen said.

Myra's expression was hard to make out in the darkness, but Cullen could feel her sympathy. "Withdrawal?"

"Yes."

Myra looked down, off the battlements. Maker, with the way the moonbeams reflected off her black curls, she looked so beautiful…

"We…don't have to talk if you don't want to," Myra said. "It's been a long day for both of us, and…"

"I'd much rather talk with you than lap around the battlements," Cullen said.

"You have a routine? Even for insomnia?" She laughed. When she laughed it tinkled like a music box.

Cullen settled next to her, resting his elbows on the battlements and staring out to the Frostbacks. "When you put it that way, you make me sound like a control freak."

"You _are_ a control freak."

Cullen chuckled. "Fair enough."

She laughed a bit. "Then again, I'm one to talk."

Cullen looked at her. " _You_?"

She nodded. "It just…expresses itself differently, I guess."

"How?" He looked away quickly. "Erm, sorry, is that too personal?"

Myra looked up at the sky. She seemed conflicted. He wondered if perhaps she was looking to her gods, the same reason behind the tattoos on her face, for an answer. Did she believe in the gods? He'd never asked, he'd just assumed she worshipped the elven gods, but she still went to the Chantry services with Fennec when she returned to Skyhold, so perhaps it was wrong of him to assume…

"At these hours," she finally said, "no question is too personal." She twisted the ring on her right hand. This wasn't the first time he'd seen her do that. Was it a nervous habit? He wanted to ask.

"I'm…" Myra said. "I'm very careful when I speak to people. I say what they want to hear, control them, in a sense."

Cullen didn't say anything. He didn't quite know what to say. Did that mean she fabricated this conversation? No…the way she fidgeted with her hands told him far too much. She was being honest.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I never was a saint."

"No one is." Cullen said. "Besides, if that's the worst thing about you, you're damn close to being one."

"Do you really think so?" Myra said.

"You're certainly no Leliana. You just want people to like you. And you've succeeded. I've yet to hear a single complaint about you as Inquisitor."

Myra looked over the edge of the battlements, her expression hidden. "Thank you."

Cullen smiled. "Don't thank me, thank yourself. You're a good leader."

"I try to be. I suppose my upbringing helps."

"How so?"

"I was First to the Keeper. Leading my clan is what I've been trained to do for most of my life, ever since my parents died."

"You mentioned that…being an orphan." Cullen looked down over the edge of the battlements. "How old were you?"

"I had just turned five."

Cullen shook his head. "So young…" How had he never known? He supposed it's not something that came up during their discussions at the War Table.

"My aunt, who was also the Keeper, took me in, but she had a clan to care for. Luckily, I was a talented mage, or she probably would have never noticed me." She gave a wry laugh, the kind that hid sadness. "So, I trained hard. I trained so hard the Keeper named me her First when I was 12."

"12? That's even younger than when I started my Templar training. Is that normal?"

Myra shook her head and turned around, leaning her back against the battlements. "You can imagine my pride." Cullen leaned with her. A guardsman passed and Cullen nodded at him. "The clan was skeptical of me for my youth, but they must have seen something in me because they began to respect me."

"I remember going into my Templar training…" Cullen's mind wandered back to his Chantry days. "I was one of the youngest boys there. Most of them were nearing adulthood."

"Was it hard being away from your family?"

"Yes, but you get used to it." Cullen laughed a bit. "I was terrible about keeping in touch. My sister hated it."

"I would too."

"My mind sometimes wandered during training. The sparring and sword training were probably my favorite parts." A cold wind blew. Myra huddled closer to him. He flushed a bit. "Erm…that and the Chantry services. They always comforted me." _Our arms are touching. Maker's breath, our arms are touching!_

"My favorite part of being First was all the stories I had to learn." Cullen watched Myra wrinkle her nose. "Never quite liked the way the elders told them, though."

"How come?"

"Because they were too… _distant_. You couldn't feel…" Myra trailed off in thought. She gestured with her hands. "Dirthamen, for example. When he and his twin soul, Falon'Din, are separated, you can't feel his fear at being separated. If you make that fear real for the listener, tangible, then it becomes all the more powerful when he masters the ravens Fear and Deceit. The story has a greater impact. The elders recite the stories, but I try to relive them."

Cullen smiled. "I always liked the Mothers who put life into the Chantry's teachings rather than recite the Chant." He looked at his feet, shuffling them a bit. Finally, he worked up the nerve to ask. "I'd…like to hear one of your renditions sometime."

She laughed. "I'm afraid I don't know the Chant well enough yet to—"

"Not the Chant," Cullen said quickly. "I meant…the stories of _your_ people."

" _My_ people?" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I didn't take you to be a scholar of elven lore."

"Is it a crime to get to know you better?"

"Depends, will it lead to trouble?"

Cullen looked up at the sky. "Well…it can't be a couple more hours until dawn. We were heading towards trouble the moment we left bed."

Myra laughed. He liked making her laugh.

"Fair enough." And with that, she began telling a story.

* * *

"Tea?"

Cullen looked back to see Myra holding two cups. He smiled appreciatively and took one of them. "Thank you."

Myra smiled back, then stared out at the battlements. Cullen followed her gaze. He appreciated these nightly talks they had. It was nice to have company…made insomnia less lonely.

"How are you feeling?"

Cullen did not reply at first, gazing deep into the Frostbacks. A cold wind blew and he sipped the tea she'd given him.

"I've been better," he finally said. "I…still wonder if I made the right decision…not taking lyrium."

"The more you think about it, the more power you give it," Myra said. "Easier said than done, but try and trust in yourself and the decisions you've made. If you're always second-guessing your steps, you'll never find your footing."

"You're right, as you often are."

Myra smiled at him. He smiled back. Maker, he loved the way she wore her hair at night. Such long, black, lovely locks only tied back in a loose bun…the moonlight highlighting shades of midnight blue…the same color as the tattoos on her face, characteristic of all Dalish. He noticed he was staring and quickly looked away, flushing.

"Enough about me," Cullen said. "You've been through so much this past month…how are _you_ doing?"

Myra took a long drink of her tea and sighed. "So much rests upon me…and now with this Orlesian ball…" She shook her head and sighed. "I wonder if I'm enough."

"Do not sell yourself short," Cullen said, drawing close. "The Inquisition wouldn't be anywhere near as successful without you leading it."

Myra looked down to hide her flushing cheeks. "You're just saying that."

Cullen laughed a bit. "Trust me…you know how some people are "silver-tongued"? Well, my tongue's made of lead."

Myra laughed so hard she dropped her tea cup off the battlements. "Oops."

Cullen rubbed her back. "Don't worry about it. Let's get back inside." He grabbed the remaining tea cup and finished his tea. Myra held one of his arms as they left the battlements.

"I'd love to test your claim sometime."

"Hm?"

"Your "lead tongue"."

Cullen momentarily forgot how to breathe. His face reddened. "I—You—"

She laughed again. "You make it so rewarding to fluster you."

He sighed. "Don't toy with my emotions, Inquisitor."

"Who said anything about toying?" Myra said. She looked pained, but it was hard to tell with her face shadowed.

Cullen's mouth twisted. "But you're with Solas."

"If things were different—"

"I do not operate under "if"s, Inquisitor."

Silence fell between the two. Myra had released his arm and now had them crossed tightly across her chest, as if trying to hold herself together. It hurt Cullen to see her hurt like this, but what else was he supposed to do? The Inquisition couldn't handle an affair…and neither could he.

"You don't care for me," Myra said.

Cullen shook his head. "No, that's not what I'm saying at all."

"You're leaving me."

"No." He pulled her back as she began to turn away. "No, I'm not leaving you. I would never…" But looking at her, he could tell she wasn't going to listen. Looking around, he saw they were alone, so he pulled her close.

"Listen," he said, holding her safe in his arms. "I understand. Everyone important in your life has left you, and you're scared it will happen again. I understand what it's like." He rested his cheek on top of her head. She was rigid, but he hoped she was listening closely to him. "But so long as I'm here, you will always have me by your side, however you'll have me.

His hold on her tightened. "I can't imagine the hardship you endure everyday as Inquisitor, but if I can ease the burden in anyway...If I can carry your throne…"

Myra nodded slowly. Perhaps she understood what he said, or perhaps not.

Only time would tell.


	22. Chapter 22

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

* * *

The journey to Halamshiral was an easy trip for Myra's party and Leliana's agents. It only took 3 days to reach Lydes, where they would wait for Cullen's armies and Josephine's carriage to arrive. There, they would regroup and travel with Duchess Caralina and her husband to the Winter Palace. They would arrive as Duke Gaspard's guests. Surely the Duke saw the value of the Inquisition's influence.

Myra had heard much of the Game from Josephine and Leliana, but to actually become immersed in it…

She began practicing for the ball early on. Josephine called in a dance instructor from Val Royeaux to help familiarize her with the movements and rhythms of the ball room. With the instructor returning to home, Myra worried she might lose what knowledge she had acquired.

So, it was on the first night in Duchess Caralina's estate that Myra knocked on the door to Solas's quarters to request a favor.

Solas opened the door and gave a small smile. "My Lady Inquisitor," he teased.

Myra rolled her eyes. "You're not my 'servant' yet, Solas."

"I am always a servant to your desire."

"Really?" Myra smirked. "I figured I was a servant to yours."

"It appears we serve each other well them." He drew her into his room and closed the door. Myra looked around the room with its silk bed sheets and lavish furnishings and was grateful she'd asked to keep her "servant" close to her rather than stay with the other servants.

"Your room seems as comfortable as mine," Myra said.

"It is surely not meant for 'servants'," Solas teased and kissed her neck.

" _That_ is surley not meant for servants either."

Solas chuckled against her skin. "I suppose not."

"I have a request for my 'servant'," Myra caressed his face.

"Then it is my responsibility to grant it." Solas kissed her.

"I need a dance partner. I want to practice before the ball."

Solas's smile widened. "I would be happy to oblige. Let us change into something more suitable shall we? You will not be dancing in armor."

* * *

Cullen and Josephine arrived in Lydes under cover of nightfall. Duchess Caralina met them and while she and Josephine exchanged pleasantries, Cullen saw the troops to their camp for the night. They'd only brought a small force with them, knowing anything large could be viewed as a threat. Cullen had handpicked soldiers for the ball. It was imperative that they stood ready to stop Corypheus's plot to assassinate Empress Celene.

 _Or Orlais falls into chaos_ , Cullen thought. _So much rests on the Inquisitor._ But did he ever doubt a word from those wine-stained lips? Did that hazel gaze ever lie to him? The stumbling of her early days had been replaced with assured steps: a drive for better, a drive for compassion. Cullen had heard about how she listened to other people's problems, had experienced her caring nature first-hand…

He regrouped with Josephine. Leliana met them at the entrance to the estate.

"The Inquisitor is not in her quarters," the Spymaster said, "but I believe I know her location."

"We should get her," Cullen said. "There's not much time before the ball tomorrow."

"Agreed," Josephine said.

Leliana led them inside the estate. It displayed the typical lavishness of all Orlesian nobles' dwellings. Cullen was not impressed by the vivid portraits, exquisite furnishings, plush cushions, or velvet curtains. He just wanted to see the Inquisitor again. His insomnia had been nearly unbearable without their nightly talks, and his thoughts on the journey to Lydes had not drifted far from Myra.

They approached the foyer in the center of the estate. Mid-way to the door, they heard a minstrel's song.

 _"Once we were_

 _In our peace_

 _With our lives assured_

 _Once we were_

 _Not afraid of the dark."_

Leliana opened the door. They entered to find a couple dancing by the light of the full moon: Solas and Myra.

 _"One we sat in our kingdom_

 _With hope and pride_

 _Once we ran through_

 _The fields in great strides."_

Cullen watched Solas walk Myra across the dance floor. She had a small smile on her face and held herself with pride and grace. Solas looked at her and guided her closer to him. She obliged, resting her hand on his shoulder, other hand in his. They stepped in time to the music.

 _"We held the Fade_

 _And the demon's flight_

 _So far from our children_

 _And from our lives."_

Myra smiled at Solas. A whole, genuine smile, not the wry ones she so often wore. She looked at him, entranced, following his every step perfectly. Solas's hands snuck around her back, pulling her even closer.

 _"We held together_

 _The fragile sky_

 _To keep our way of life."_

Josephine sighed romantically at the sight. Myra's ears perked and she stopped to find the noise's source, but Solas guided her gaze back to him and shook his head. He kissed her deeply. Cullen watched Myra's entirety relax at his touch. His heart caught in his throat. He shifted uncomfortably.

Immediately, he derided himself for his discomfort at the sight. _She's with Solas._

"I hope we're not interrupting," Leliana said, smiling coyly.

 _Solas, Solas, Solas…_

Myra flushed. "I was preparing for the ball."

"Don't let us interrupt," Josephine said and turned to leave, but Leliana grabbed her arm. She eyed Cullen. He didn't know what to do, so he simply nodded. The Spymaster turned back to Myra.

"You'll have plenty of dancing at the ball, my lady," Leliana said. "Perhaps we should prepare in other ways, considering the arrival of the Commander and our Lady Ambassador?"

Myra looked to Solas. How could such innocent doe eyes taunt the Commander like a Desire Demon? How could they possibly look to Cullen for anything? The spark between her and Cullen was nothing compared to how she lit up with Solas.

"Go, da'len," Solas said. "We will dance again." He kissed her good night and departed.

The minstrel left shortly after Solas, leaving the Inquisitor and her Advisors to create a makeshift War Room. Leliana seemed to eye Cullen suspiciously as they prepared, but Cullen ignored her.

"Forgive me for asking, Your Worship," Josephine began, "but I was wondering… 'Da'len,' is it an elvish word?"

"Correct, Lady Ambassador."

"What does it mean?"

"It's a term of endearment. The literal translation would be 'little person,' I suppose. It's typically used for children." Myra paused. "I…call him 'hahren', which is a term of respect, typically reserved for elders." She flushed, looking down as she shuffled her feet. "He's certainly wise."

"You and Solas have been together since Haven," Leliana said suddenly.

Myra blinked. "We've always had a connection."

"Still, rather quick to commit to someone, no?"

"There were no obstacles," Myra said.

"There were no obstacles to be had," Leliana said.

The air changed after Leliana's comment. Cullen shifted uneasily. Myra's entire stature changed. Josephine flipped through some papers. Leliana's eyes twinkled with mischief, and suddenly, Myra's smile became coy.

"What obstacles are there to be had?" Myra asked.

"Perhaps you should answer that, Lady Inquisitor."

Myra took a few graceful steps away from Leliana, as if dancing to the minstrel's music once more. She floated to the makeshift War Table, where Josephine had already laid out a map of the Winter Palace.

Josephine laid out one of the Inquisition uniforms for the ball on the table.

"They look wonderful, Josie!" Myra said. "Excellent job."

 _She changed the subject,_ Cullen noted.

"I gave everyone's measurements to the tailor, so they should fit right, but if everyone can try them on tonight and tell me if they fit, I can take them to a tailor tomorrow before the ball and have them fixed."

"It's important to keep up appearances," Myra said. "Do the others have their uniforms?"

"Yes, the one on the table is yours."

"Should I go try it on then?"

"If you would."

Myra left the room. Upon leaving, Leliana turned to Josephine.

"She entered the Game for a moment," the Spymaster said.

"I felt it too," Josephine said.

"Is that what that exchange was?" Cullen asked. "The Inquisitor looked so…different."

"Were you looking, Commander?" Leliana asked.

"The Inquisitor and I are friends and nothing more."

Leliana smirked. "I never said you were. But you two are rather close, no?"

"Am I next on your list for scrutiny?"

Josephine cut between the two. "Myra would never leave Solas."

"That is true."

Leliana's gaze did not stop twinkling. She was still in the Game.

"Besides, they are so endearing of a couple. Perish the thought of them ever—"

The door opened and Myra re-entered the room. "Josie, how is this _supposed_ to look?"

"Oh dear." Josephine ran to Myra. The Inquisitor's trousers dragged on the ground underneath her feet.

"They must have thought the Inquisitor was taller!" Josephine lamented.

Myra laughed. "Hush, Josie. Your tailor can fix it."

"They must!" Josephine cried.

"Otherwise, it seems to fit fine."

"Let me have a look."

Cullen watched as Myra twisted and turned for Josephine's examination. He watched her laugh lightly as she bantered with the Lady Ambassador…watched as her ears perked as she listened to Josephine's advice. He watched her expressive face change with each emotion, so telling of her honest character.

And yet, his relationship with her was nothing but confusing to him. The insomnia had been worse when she was gone, and there was not a single night during his week apart from her he hadn't longed to be at her side, hear her voice, see her face…

That moment, he realized something: Perhaps there was something _more_ between himself and the Lady Inquisitor.

* * *

Cullen rubbed his temples amidst the throng of ladies that had congregated around him. They giggled and fanned themselves, which, knowing Orlesians and the Game, could be some sort of secret marriage proposal. He wouldn't be surprised with how they flaunted and preened themselves around him.

It exasperated him. The same scenario happened with each noblewoman who joined the throng. She would say something like, "Would you join me on the dance floor, Commander?" To which he would reply, "No, thank you." Each polite decline of an invitation only seemed to come across as a challenge to them as they teased and taunted him.

"Desire Demons give up sooner than this lot," he muttered under his breath as he gulped down his wine and signaled a servant. "Get me something strong, please" he said. "It's going to be a _long_ night…"

"Yes, serah," the elven servant bade and bowed her head before hurrying off to take other drink orders. Endless moments dragged on as the ball continued and the damn noblewomen continued to flock around their "prized stallion." _(He wasn't kidding, one of the women had really called him her "prized stallion." Maker's breath.)_ The Commander was so preoccupied looking for the servant to come with his drink that he hadn't noticed the Inquisitor slip beside him until she had snaked her arm around him.

"Inquisitor!" He jumped a bit, blushing at her proximity.

"Oh, Cullen, _darling_ , no need to use such formal titles here. I have been looking _everywhere_ for you." She placed a hand on his chest before she looked around, seeming to notice the women surrounding him for the first time.

"Oh, darling, I see you've made so many friends while I was gone." The look she gave them could have chilled the most seasoned soldier to the bone. The noblewomen fanned themselves and looked to each other nervously.

"My Lady Inquisitor, we hadn't the slightest idea that you and the Commander were so...close," one said.

"Oh, darlings, don't fret. I'm sure none of you would enter where you are not welcome. Etiquette would not permit, no?"

"No, no, no!" The ladies chorused. They gave their sincerest apologies and left to different corners of the ballroom.

" _You_ owe me a dance," Myra said.

"I don't dance," Cullen said quickly.

"Neither do I, but Josephine had me take lessons." She was already leading him to the dance floor. Andraste help him, the _Inquisitor_ was leading _him_ to the dance floor.

"Wouldn't you rather dance with Solas?" He asked quickly. Maker's Breath, could he sound any pettier?

Myra looked back at him to frown as she continued to lead them onward. Cullen regretted his words immediately.

She pulled him close, resting her hand on his shoulder. Couples twirled around them and Myra followed their lead. Even inebriated, her every move still seemed methodical, if not a tad clumsier. _Wait a second…_ Damn it, when had they reached the _dance floor_?

But it was too late for second guessing or to pull back. It felt to Cullen as though the eyes of every attendee rested upon them. His face flashed bright red as Myra pulled herself into his grasp: tight, close.

"For the record, I did ask Solas," Myra said. She swayed to the music and Cullen found himself instinctually follow in suit. Maker's Breath, she was even more beautiful up-close; he could hardly focus on what she was actually saying. Her red suit only seemed to bring out the blue tones to her black hair, tightly wrapped in a bun, as always. Her tattoos, a dark blue, partially hid the dark circles under her eyes, not entirely, but her hazel eyes sparked with life.

"…so then I asked Leliana and Josephine what they thought, and as you can tell by their giggling on the upper deck of the ballroom, you can only imagine they wholeheartedly supported any effort to embarrass you further."

Cullen jerked back into reality by the smile of those deep red lips. _They look so soft…_

"Distracted, Commander?"

"Y-yes, I mean, n-no, of course not, but perhaps a bit…"

"Hush," Myra said.

"Yes, Inquisitor."

"Myra," she said.

"I—yes, Myra."

Myra smirked a bit at that. "I don't think I've ever seen you so flustered, Commander."

"Cullen," he said, flushing further. Could his face get any redder?

"Cullen." The name rolled off her tongue. "Yes, I like that better."

They waltzed around the dance floor, eventually making their way to the center. Surely, nobles whispered about the Inquisitor dancing with her Commander, but Cullen could not hear them over the sound of his own pounding heart. Here she was, so close to him, her chest flush with his, her hand in his. He found his footing, beginning to lead her. She grinned at this change of pace and followed him eagerly. He twirled her around, watching her lithe frame as he pulled her back into him. Their eyes were only for each other, and for a moment, it felt as though they were the only two on the entire dance floor.

What game was she playing at? He searched her eyes for some sort of clue, but all he could see was that familiar spark. Could that spark mean something…something more?

The band stopped playing and their dance naturally came to a halt. The two did not break gaze. Something about her eyes…drew him in…

…

Applause from the nobles. He stopped himself and drew back, clearing his throat. Myra blinked a few times before giving a smile, but something seemed off about that smile…as though it wasn't wholly genuine. Myra bowed and Cullen bowed back.

 _I can't believe what I almost did._ His eyes flitted about the crowd, searching for sign of anyone catching onto his intention, but the Orlesians revealed nothing behind their masks. _Maker's breath, I can't believe what I almost did._

Duchess Florianne approached the pair and curtseyed. "Greetings, Commander and Lady Inquisitor." She turned to Myra. "Might I have this dance?"

Myra looked to Cullen, but her expression was unreadable and polite. She had delved into the Game once more, or had she ever left?

"It would be my pleasure, Duchess." Myra bowed and took the Duchess's hand, beginning to dance. Cullen saw his way off the dance floor, head spinning with more questions than there were would ever be answers.

* * *

"Inquis—Myra?"

Myra did not turn to address the Commander. She stood on the balcony she'd discussed the fate of Orlais with its leaders a mere hour prior. Now, it acted not as a stage to decide Orlais's leader, but a quiet place of reprieve from the ball's festivities. She was smoking from her pipe, blowing perfect smoke o's. The night had drained much from her physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Sorry for intruding," Cullen said, "but the damned noblewomen won't leave me alone."

Nevertheless, she welcomed the Commander's company. "I needed a break from the ball as well." She held out the pipe to him. He took it and toked.

"Nothing like a pipe of spindleweed after a long night," Myra said.

Cullen sighed. "The longest night I can remember…"

Myra chuckled, the smoke jutting clumsily from her lips. Cullen smiled at her. Then, he turned to the distance Frostbacks.

"It'll be nice to finally be back at Skyhold," he said.

"Agreed," Myra said. "Though it's a shame."

"Why?"

"I won't have an excuse to dance with you again."

"I'm sure Solas would be happy to—"

"I'm sure he would."

Yes, Solas, of course. Briefly, Myra wondered if her motives for dancing with the Commander really were an innocent teasing between friends or something more. She couldn't tell; the Game convoluted everything.

"Myra," Cullen looked to her. She could see him wringing his hands around the railing of the balcony. Was this it? Would he finally confess his feelings for her?

Her heart pounded in her chest. She waited for his next words, ready to brand them into her memory.

Footsteps approached. Myra turned around to find Solas standing behind them. He nodded his greetings.

"Commander, if I might have a moment with the Inquisitor?"

 _Why is he asking?_ She looked to Cullen, but he refused to meet her gaze. He seemed ashamed.

"You're my best friend," he finally said. He left the balcony quickly, leaving her and Solas alone.

"I'm not surprised to find you here."

"You know me far too well," Myra said, smiling at Solas.

He settled next to her easily, filling the gap Cullen had just left. They rested their elbows on the stone of the balcony, staring at the cold Frostbacks on the horizon, white caps glistening in the moonlight. The winter bluster shook Myra to the bone. She put out her pipe and stuffed it in her pocket. She hunched her shoulders to keep warm.

"Thoughts?" Solas asked.

"Fragile." She answered immediately. "Everything feels…fragile."

"Is this an internal feeling or an external observation?"

"Both."

Solas stared out to the mountains. "Such is to be expected from someone in your position. Many here have lived and breathed the Game since birth. You were thrown into tonight, and played it flawlessly. Not all can boast of such talent."

Myra snorted. "I don't boast."

"No, you are far too modest, and, as usual, not giving yourself due credit."

"I…feel like this victory is only temporary," Myra said.

"There is certainly more trouble to come." Solas jumped back a pace. "Dance with me, quickly, before the band stops playing." He bowed and extended his hand.

Myra stared for a moment, then smiled at his uncharacteristic enthusiasm. _How much has he had to drink tonight?_

Maybe it was the two glasses of wine she'd indulged in before going outside for some air, or maybe it was the elf's infectious enthusiasm, but Myra abandoned her hesitations. "Okay, but I might be all danced out."

"We'll go slow," Solas promised.

Myra took his hand and he pulled her close, swaying and stepping slowly in time to the music. She nuzzled into the crook of his neck and sighed happily.

Solas's hand trailed down her waist, twitching her hips before settling.

Myra glanced through the open doorway only to meet Cullen's gaze. His expression was pained…Myra glanced away quickly and missed a step, tripping over herself.

"Are you alright?" Solas asked. He reached down and helped her up to the bench. She breathed heavily, recovering from her little fall.

"I'm fine. Ir abelas." She looked back to where Cullen had been staring only to see an Orlesian had taken his place.

"Hmmm…" Solas said, "perhaps a different kind of dance would be more…enjoyable for you?"

Myra got the feeling he didn't mean the vertical kind of dancing. "I…we've never…" Those drinks must have been stronger than she thought. She could barely think straight. "Where?"

"Where no one will see us, of course. We can't have the Lady Inquisitor's good name tarnished, now can we?"

"I'd tarnish it with your company above all else," she replied.

He took her hand and led her back into the ballroom. They slipped quickly past the nobles and fellow companions before reaching the West Wing.

"We're not _really_ gong to—"

Solas cocked a brow. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"I—in the _Empress's_ room?"

"Where better would we find a place thriving with such scandalous sexual energy?" He walked her to the wall, pressing himself against her. "Empress of my heart, you look most _ravishing_ tonight." He sucked hungrily on her neck, making her mewl like a kitten.

"No marks!" she cried. "Careful, don't leave marks."

"Mmm, my apologies," he pressed a glowing hand against her neck. The welt radiated with warmth as he kissed her with the same ferocity.

"Maybe we should partake in the Game more often," Myra said breathlessly.

"Vhenan, you pique my arousal."

"I'm sure I pique something else too."

"Oh, you do." He carried her to the bed and threw her underneath him. "My interest, my curiosity, my sentimentality long lost on all but Spirits…but that wasn't your implication, was it?"

"Smooth talker."

His hands slowly slid up her legs and he began to rub circles into her thighs. Myra flushed. She felt the same as the night she lost her virginity to Trewyn, trembling with nerves and excitement. It had been months since anyone had touched her like this, not since her drunken debacle with Blackwall. She'd saved herself for Solas, never knowing if he'd deliver. Now, she knew he had every intention to.

He pulled down the trousers to her formal uniform. Kisses blossomed on her inner thighs before Solas seemed to have other thoughts. He touched her gently through her smallclothes, somehow flicking her clit exactly where it rest. Myra gasped as pleasure jolted through her body, sudden and fleeting. She craved more, but Solas had something else in mind.

He gave her light, tantalizing touches with one hand whilst unbuttoning her shirt with the other. She helped with the more stubborn buttons, but his nimble fingers managed to free most of them. As she squirmed underneath him, he kissed up her navel, past her ribs, then rested his lips over her heart. She felt his breath brush over her skin as he sighed and looked up at her.

His eyes commanded her attention. "Ar lath ma." He continued to brush her clit through her smallclothes. She wriggled and writhed.

"Ar lath ma, hahren." She pleaded. " _Please_."

"Please?" He worked his kisses further up, sucking on her collarbone briefly. His tongue traveled up her neck, then he nibbled on her ear lobe. "Please what?" He whispered.

Myra flushed. "You know what." She looked away embarrassedly. "By the Dread Wolf, you make me feel like a virgin."

"The Dread Wolf?" He smirked. "An interesting choice." She felt his hand caress her face as he diverted her gaze back to him. "Myra…I do not wish to embarrass you. I merely wish...for the knowledge our desires align tonight." He kissed her gently, but Myra did not have the patience for "gently." Not with his finger still rubbing her clit. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, her tongue delving deep within the cavern behind his lips.

He returned her passion ten-fold, his tongue fluttering against hers. She rubbed her legs together. One of his hands found its way to her breast and his fingers found her nipple. They flicked, squeezed, tugged. He was so methodical in his passion, listening intently to her moans of pleasure and changing his actions to what made her cry the loudest. His other hand slipped inside her smallclothes, his thumb on her clit, his middle finger slipping inside easily.

Myra covered her own mouth, but Solas removed her hand. He must have wanted to hear her every moan just as his hands would feel every quiver of pleasure. His gaze drank in her form as his finger curved within her, wriggling against the spongy tissue deep inside. Myra cried out as his thumb continued to rub her clit. How he had the dexterity to do both, Myra did not know, nor did she care, her mind overloaded by her senses that screamed pleasure and demanded satisfaction.

She felt the tears well in her eyes. She tried to hide them, but Solas was too perceptive for that. He didn't stop. He knew he didn't have to. He wiped them away and kissed her gently, continuing to pleasure her.

"Do you enjoy my touch, vhenan?"

"Yes, yes, yes...!"

"I'd like to pleasure you in other ways, if you are willing."

"Please, yes…"

He took his finger out then slipped it into his mouth. His mouth twisted thoughtfully, as though savoring the taste. Then, he slipped off her smallclothes and lowered his mouth to the lips between her legs. For moments that felt like an eternity, he merely breathed heavily. He made Myra squirm.

Finally, he buried his face between her legs. A few deep licks, as he lapped up the juices, then quick flutters of his tongue over her bulging knob. He wrapped his lips around it and sucked, hungrily. Myra wriggled and writhed, screamed and cried. The pleasure bubbled inside of her, and she felt the legs tighten around his head, trapping him into pleasuring her. She wasn't in control now, her body tightened and relaxed against her bidding, until finally, the pleasure came to a boil.

"Don't stop," Myra said, her voice throaty with pleasure. "Don't stop. Creators' names, don't stop…!" Her jaw dropped as a series of moans escaped her mouth. Her body quaked and quivered, her legs bucked and buckled, Solas's gaze weighed heavily upon her as he watched her orgasm.

Finally, the contractions came to a close. Myra panted heavily, endorphins flooding every fiber of her being as Solas sat up and licked her juices from his lips. When he kissed her, she could taste herself on his lips. She felt her eyes drooping.

She made out the lopsided smile of her lover.

"I love you so much," she said.

"Mmm, vhenan…" He kissed her neck a few times before helping her get dressed, then he kissed her sweetly on the lips. "Come, we should leave before the guards investigate."

And so they slipped out of the Empress's quarters and back to the ballroom.


	23. Chapter 23

**PART THREE**

* * *

 **CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

* * *

"Vhenan," Solas greeted Myra as she snaked her arms around his waist.

She smirked and kissed his neck. Looking at the wall before them, she saw the beginnings of a painting decorating the space. The Orlesian masks gave away the scene immediately.

"You're painting Halamshiral?"

"I am."

"You seem to be missing a vital part."

"And what part would I be missing?"

Myra could hear the smirk in his voice. He knew, he just wanted her to say it. "Set down your paintbrush and I'll remind you."

Solas paused his painting to give her a sideways gaze. Myra smirked.

"A tempting offer," he returned to painting.

"How tempting?"

"Very."

A hard _thunk_.

"Ow!" Myra cried. She looked down to see her assailant was a book, most likely thrown by the same Tevinter mage making blanching noises the floor above them.

" _Get a room!_ " Dorian cried.

"Stop eavesdropping and we'd have one!" Myra called up to him.

Dorian poked his head over the railing.

"Why a book?" Myra picked it up off the floor.

"It's _Swords and Shields_."

"Varric's?"

Varric cried from his chair outside Solas's study. "Quit throwing my books!"

"It's _Swords and Shields_!" Myra called.

"…Carry on."

Myra turned back to Solas. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "It sounds like we need a room, then."

"Perhaps." Solas set down his paintbrush.

The second chapter of _Swords and Shields_ fell from above.

"Dorian!" Myra cried.

" _Room_!"

"So long as you close the door, I'm fine," Varric piped in. "I can even pen a 'Do Not Disturb' sign."

"Varric, you sick bastard!" Dorian called. He was coming down the stairs.

"Oh, come on, Sparkler, let the kids have their fun."

"I am hardly a child," Solas murmured.

Myra laughed.

"So," Dorian sauntered down the steps and lounged on the couch, much to Solas's distaste. "Empress Celene and Briala are reunited, and now the clerics argue amongst themselves over who becomes the next Divine. Personally, these politics are giving me a dreadful headache."

"It is rather fortunate you are not involved, then," Solas said, a tinge of venom in his voice.

Myra frowned at him and moved to sit next to her best friend. "Who do _you_ think I should pick for Divine?"

"I'll tell you one thing," Dorian turned his head, smirking at her. "Vivienne would certainly be the most fashionable."

Myra laughed. "The Orlesians would fawn over her."

"Leliana is the only hope for mages," Solas said. "Though the mage's freedom would come at a price, given her ruthless nature."

"She does what needs to be done," Myra said. "It's a thankless job, but she doesn't do it for anyone's approval."

Solas cast a knowing smile her way. "You see yourself in her."

"A real shocker with how you played the so-called 'Game,'" Dorian winked at her.

Myra twisted her mouth thoughtfully. "The 'Game' was a great deal of fun. Did I really seem that different?"

"Immensely so," Dorian waved his hands grandiosely. "Your mask was so impenetrable, I barely recognized you as my expressive best friend."

"Solas?" Myra looked at him, hoping to hear his commendations as well.

"You know my feelings on the matter," Solas replied rather enigmatically.

 _He loved it._

"I've always been curious: what is your sex life like?"

"Dorian!" Myra flushed.

"No, really? Sera thinks it involves some sort of 'elven glory' ritual."

"She's mentioned that."

"Did you ever do it in the forest?"

"I am not Dalish," Solas interjected.

"No," Myra said.

"I'll get you to spill everything with a couple shots of whiskey." Dorian elbowed her.

Myra sighed. "That you will."

"Is he old enough to start having problems with—"

Solas stopped painting. "I believe we've heard enough from Dorian, haven't we, Inquisitor?"

"Sorry, Dorian." Myra said. "Seems you've lost your visitation privileges."

"I deserved it this time," Dorian laughed and stood up. He walked to the stairs to the library. "But, you and I have some interesting things to talk about tonight."

"Meet you in the tavern at dusk?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Dorian waved his hand in a sassy salute to Solas. "Farewell, apostate hobo."

"Hm?" Solas said, looking at Dorian. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you over the loudness of your outfit."

Dorian faked a pained look. Myra sensed his distaste from downstairs, but tried her best to ignore it. Dorian had crossed a line, she couldn't imagine Solas would be happy. She prepared for the worst.

"I'm sorry for his behavior," Myra said, twisting her betrothal ring.

Solas chuckled a bit. "You say that as if you are personally responsible."

"I certainly didn't stop him."

"It is not your job to stop him. His actions are his own." Solas continued painting. "I understand what you see in him. 'Din'Arlathan,' as you once told me." Solas shook his head as he painted the night sky in a dark, dark blue.

Myra frowned. "Do you mourn Arlathan?"

Solas stopped painting for a moment. Then, he continued. "The Elven Empire had its faults, but it is sad to see what took its place is no better. That slavery still exists."

"It is sad, but it's not Dorian's fault." She stared back at his painting. The night sky was finished now and the Orlesians stood unreadable behind their masks. "When are you going to paint us?" Myra asked.

"The hour of your victory, of course," Solas said. He cleaned up his paints. "Picture this, a brilliant night sky, the balcony of Skyhold, and us, together."

"That sounds wonderful," Myra said. She paused in thought. "What do you think will become of the Inquisition after Corypheus?"

"I believe that is up to you to decide, my Lady Inquisitor," Solas teased.

"You know what I mean."

Solas gave her a look. "I could say the same." Solas stood and walked to her. He snaked his arms around her waist and held her close. "I am not a seer, I cannot tell you. The future is unknown."

"But what _should_ it do?"

"It depends on what you wish from it. Power will remain in your hands after you defeat Corypheus. What would you use that power for?"

"The same thing I've always done: what's right, no matter the cost."

Solas chuckled a bit. "The fate of Thedas dependent on your conscience?"

"Yes," Myra said. "Hahren ma ghilani."

Solas smiled and kissed her forehead. Then, his expressions turned sad. "Da'len, what if things…don't happen as they should?"

"What do you mean?" Myra asked.

"If you try, and things don't work in the way you intended," Solas said. "What then?"

"Then, I'll take a deep breath, rethink things, and start over. I want to build a better future, Solas. It can't be how it is now, with people killing each other and demons falling out of the sky."

"You are correct," Solas said. "And thank you, da'len, for your idealism, your drive to better. You give me hope for the future." He kissed her.

Myra smiled into the kiss. "As do you."

* * *

A week later, Cullen finished leading the troops, Josephine, and prisoner of the Inquisition, ex-Duchess Florianne, to Skyhold. Empress Celene had turned over the ex-Duchess to the Inquisition for judgment. Myra ruled to make the ex-Duchess a jester. Sera got a kick out of that one. Now, Myra headed to the War Room with Josephine for the first meeting following Halamshiral.

"A rather amusing ruling," Josephine commented as they left the throne room.

"I thought so," Myra said.

Morrigan waited in the hallway outside the War Room. Myra smiled in greeting and Morrigan nodded back. They entered the War Room.

Cullen and Leliana were already updating the War Table. Myra felt her heart flutter as Cullen looked up at her. Their gazes rested on each other for a time.

"Welcome back," Myra said. _I missed you_.

"It's good to be back," Cullen said. _I missed you too._

The moment ended.

"Allow me to introduce Lady Morrigan," Myra said, "Arcane Advisor to Empress Celene."

"Previously," Morrigan corrected. "It appears I am now Arcane Advisor to the Inquisition."

"We would be remised to not accept your aid," Josephine said.

"Lady Morrigan and I spent some time on the road talking. She is an expert on elven lore and the arcane arts, and personally I am eager for her advisement."

"Quite the welcome," Morrigan smirked.

"Leliana," Myra said, "any updates?"

"Since you foiled Corypheus's plans in both Adamant and the Winter Palace, he has focused his forces toward the Arbor Wilds."

"The Arbor Wilds?" Cullen pointed to it on the map. "What could he possibly want there?"

"My agents say there are elven ruins in the Wilds. Perhaps he seeks an artifact," Leliana said.

Morrigan tsk'ed. "The Wilds do not take kindly to visitors."

"Please, Lady Morrigan," Josephine said, "lend us your expertise."

Morrigan smiled at the Lady Ambassador. "I believe I know what Corypheus seeks." Morrigan turned to Myra. "It would be far easier to show you."

Myra nodded and went to follow her out of the War Room.

"Myra?" Cullen stopped her on the way out of the War Room. "Hold a moment?"

"What is it, Cullen?" Myra asked.

"I will be in the gardens when you are ready, Inquisitor," Morrigan said and left.

Cullen waited until the door closed behind her. "Myra, she is an apostate," Cullen said.

"As am I."

"That's not what I mean," Cullen shook his head. "Something doesn't seem right about her."

"I agree," Leliana said. "I have dealt with her before, she is a snake."

"She is power-hungry," Myra said. "But that is not because she is an apostate." And with that, Myra left the War Room, following Morrigan into the gardens.

Morrigan led her inside an empty room. A large mirror stood at the far end of the room.

Myra approached it in awe. "These engravings…this is an elven artifact."

"Indeed," Morrigan said. "It is called an eluvian. It—"

"Can aid in communication across long distances, or so Merrill of the Sabrae clan thought last time we spoke." Myra ran her fingertips over the glass. "There's no reflection…How does it work?"

"Each eluvian needs a key to unlock it. The key could be a phrase, knowledge, skill, power… I hold the key for this one." Morrigan murmured a few words and her hand glowed bright blue. The eluvian responded, the glass glowing bright blue. Morrigan touched her fingertips to the shimmering portal. The portal rippled like a pond. The Arcane Advisor beckoned Myra to follow. Awing, Myra stepped in after her.

On the other side of the eluvian lay a massive expanse with thousands of dead eluvians…a Crossroads, of sorts. _All these dim doorways,_ Myra mourned.

"I believe Corypheus seeks to use an eluvian to enter the Fade," Morrigan said.

"Then we must stop him," Myra said.

They headed back to Skyhold.

* * *

Another Chantry service passed. Fennec held Myra and Cullen's hands as they exited into Skyhold's gardens. Lady Morrigan gave her an odd look and motioned her over.

Cullen sighed. "What does she want?"

"Probably just to talk," Myra said.

"Who's that boy with her?" Fennec asked, pointing.

"That's Keeran, her son," Myra said.

Cullen blinked a few times as the information processed.

Myra giggled. "Something wrong?"

"I…simply didn't take her for the mothering-type."

"She seems to have raised him well."

Fennec shifted restlessly. "I kinda wanna tackle him."

"Let's get past introductions first," Myra said, petting Fennec's hair. She and Fennec began walking towards Morrigan and Keeran only for Cullen to stop them.

"Wait."

Myra turned around and cocked her head. Cullen looked down at his feet and shuffled them around.

"There's something I want to give you," he said. "Before I leave for the Arbor Wilds."

"Cullen…"

"Humor me," Cullen said.

Myra bit her lip but nodded. She headed back to Cullen. He placed a small gold coin in her hand. "My brother gave this to me before I left for my Templar Training. I left everything behind but this." He closed her hand with his. "It's for luck."

Myra smiled at him. It was a sad smile. She knew what the coin meant to him, and what it meant for him to give it to her. _He cares._ "Thank you."

Cullen nodded. "The Inquisition needs its Inquisitor to survive. I won't let Haven happen again."

"I know you won't," Myra said.

She felt a familiar trill in the air. The trill that came when they touched. The trill, waiting for resolution. Her heart fluttered as she looked into his eyes. The rest of the world faded, and for a moment, she wondered if they could be.

"Myra, come on, I wanna tackle him," Fennec whined, tugging at her robes.

The moment ended. Myra shook her head laughing a bit. "Yes, you will get to tackle him, my child." She turned back to Cullen. "Dareth shiral, ma falon."

"What does that mean?" Cullen asked.

"It means 'Safe travels, my friend.'" Myra bowed her head. "Do not forget, the Inquisition needs its Commander too." _Please don't be reckless. I need you safe. Please, by Mythal's grace, return him to me._

Cullen nodded and left her.

Myra headed over to Morrigan and Keeran.

"It is rather curious you waste time with such idle fantasies," the Arcane Advisor said as she approached.

"It brings the little one comfort," Myra said, petting Fennec's hair. The child had hidden in her robes. As she peeked at Keeran, her face flushed bright red. The boy looked quizzically at the girl, then up at Morrigan, as if for guidance.

"This is my daughter, Fennec," Myra said. "She's a bit shy around strangers."

"Keeran did not have many chances for interaction with other children in the Orlesian Court," Morrigan said.

Keeran looked at Fennec. "Her blood is young…" He looked to Myra, "But yours is old."

"Pardon?" Myra asked.

"Run along, Keeran," Morrigan said quickly. "You have your studies, yes?"

"Yes, Mother," Keeran said. He made to the guest quarters. Fennec trembled a bit then bolted after him.

"I assume preparation for the Arbor Wilds are well in order for you to take the time for such fanatical dribble," Morrigan said.

"From what you told me, is there ever a way to fully prepare for the Wilds?"

Morrigan plucked a stray hair from her robes. "A fair point."

"I've outfitted my companions, the Spymaster has sent her agents, the Lady Ambassador has called our allies, and the Commander is preparing to leave as we speak."

"Ah, yes, the large, hulking figure looming at your side. It surprises me to see him leave."

Myra furrowed her brow. "How so?"

"I wondered if he was raised by dogs with how he trailed after you and barked at me, as though I were some wolf eyeing his mistress."

Myra chuckled. "That certainly sounds like him." Then she frowned. "I do apologize for his behavior. As an ex-Templar—"

"I've dealt with his sort," Morrigan said, waving a hand dismissively. "Though I do wonder if his guarding of you is a statement of his feelings toward me or towards you."

Myra flushed. "Perhaps both?"

"Curious, but no matter. 'Tis trivial what he thinks of me. The Inquisition has made it this far, which suggests he is not completely incompetent."

"My, my, Morrigan. You have such little faith."

"I am a woman of many things, Inquisitor. Faith is not one of them."

Myra sighed. "I wonder what awaits us in the Arbor Wilds. Where will the Eluvian be? Will it be intact? Working?"

Morrigan smirked. "I am pleased you share my interest in the marvels of magic, Inquisitor."

"As a fellow apostate, how could I not?"

"And yet you attend the service where sheep flock—"

"Not all of them are sheep," Myra said. "Besides, not all were meant to be wolves."

"So which might you be?" Morrigan asked.

Myra smirked and said nothing.


	24. Chapter 24

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

* * *

"You're going to the Arbor Wilds," Fennec said. She started jumping on the Inquisitor's bed. Solas shooed her off.

Myra rolled her eyes. "You need to stop eavesdropping," she said. "Cullen will be gone. I want you to behave while we're both gone."

"I can take care of myself," Fennec pouted.

"I know you can, darling," Myra kissed her head. She finished packing her bag. "Remember to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner when they're served in the kitchens. Play nice with the other children. Do your homework. There's some coin in the drawer of my desk," Myra looked the child in the eye, " _only for emergencies._ "

Fennec groaned. "I know, I know."

"I'll be back by Wintermarch." Myra kissed her head.

"Ready?" Solas asked.

"Yes," Myra said.

She gathered Cassandra, Cole, and Solas and left for the Wilds.

* * *

When they reached the Wilds, the smell of smoke greeted them. Fires ravaged the jungle, set by Inquisition scouts to slow down the Red Templars progress.

"If the soldiers aren't careful with their fires, they will do Corypheus's work for him," Solas drawled as they approached.

They carved their way through the Wilds.

"Your thoughts are the endless twisting roads you've wandered," Cole said. "Yet you fear. Her heart welcomes you. She'll understand."

"This road has grown unfamiliar to me," Solas replied. "Yet she breathes the forest. She leads me through the brambles."

"Then why wander alone?" Cole asked. "I want you to be happy."

"I do too," Myra said.

"Ar lath ma, vhenan."

"I love you more," Myra said.

"His voice sparks a fire, his touch fans the flame. It feels so warm," Cole said, looking at Myra.

"That is love."

"Will you tell him?"

For a moment, Myra was unsure who he was referring to. "He knows." They both did.

"Your body is too small," Cole said.

"Why's that?" Myra said.

"Your heart spills out."

"I need a bigger body."

"Yes."

Cassandra grumbled. "I never know what you speak of."

"That is because Cole only speaks to one person at a time. When he speaks to someone, it is for their ears alone," Myra said.

"But how do you understand what he's saying?"

"You listen with your heart."

Cassandra gave an exasperated sigh.

They passed Cullen as they made their way to the Temple. He ushered them onward.

"You worry," Cole said.

"Who?" Cassandra asked.

"Myra."

"I worry every day," Myra said.

"It claws at your stomach and tears into your heart."

"Have you ever worried?" Myra asked.

"Yes."

"Then you know."

"Hamin, da'len," Solas said. "All will be well."

"I'll make it so."

They entered the Temple and began to fulfill the rituals.

"When will you show him?" Cole asked as Myra pondered one of the rituals.

"You'll have to be more specific," Myra said.

"It's not your fault your heart's too big," Cole said.

"So he tells me," Myra said.

"He would hurt," Cole said.

"I couldn't, so I don't," Myra said.

"He thinks the same thing."


	25. Chapter 25

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE**

* * *

"I begged you not to drink from the Well!" Solas yelled.

Cullen could see his silhouette inside the tent, pacing back and forth. He could also see Myra's silhouette, arms crossed, feet planted firmly on the ground.

"Why could you not have listened?" Solas cried.

"It's elven history," Myra said. "Remnants of a time my people were not diminished to 'ignorant forest dwellers'—"

"I apologized—"

"—Alienages, servants, and slaves! Back to a time when magic was _really_ alive."

"You don't understand!"

"—As First to the Keeper it is my duty to preserve—"

"They're fighting again," Cassandra murmured to Cullen. She had stopped sharpening her sword, but the couple stood so engrossed in their bickering, they had passed the point of caring who heard them long ago.

Cullen listened.

"You gave yourself to the service of an ancient elven god!" Solas cried.

"You don't even _believe_ in the gods!"

"You don't know—"

"Then teach me!"

Cassandra spoke again. "This is the third time today."

Solas sighed. "You are Mythal's creature now. Everything you do, whether you know it or not, will be for her. You have given up a part of yourself."

"To preserve Mythal's legacy."

Cassandra sighed. "Why don't you tell her you love her?"

"I ca—I mean, I don't know what you're—"

"Drop the act, Cullen. I saw your eyes when you danced with her."

"It wouldn't be right," Cullen said. "She's happy—"

Myra left the tent, wiping at her eyes furiously.

Cassandra stood. "No, she's not." She went to Myra's side and led her away from camp.

Solas charged from the tent after Myra. He stopped upon seeing her gone, cursed in elvish, and stormed back inside the tent.

Myra did not return for an hour. Cassandra gave Cullen a pointed look before wishing them good night and turning in. The Inquisitor pulled out her pipe from a pouch and filled it with spindleweed.

"Smoke?" she asked Cullen.

"Please," Cullen said.

Myra filled it to the brim. She snapped her fingers and lit the pipe. It continued to smoke when she passed it to Cullen.

Cullen took the pipe. The wood was weathered, but the wear made it smooth. He put it to his lips, but hesitated to toke. "Are…you okay?" he asked.

"No," Myra said. Her voice trembled.

"Do you…want to talk?" Cullen asked.

"It would be best not to dwell on it…" She murmured in elvish to herself.

"What are you saying?" Cullen asked.

"Nothing," Myra said.

Cullen took a few tokes, then handed the pipe back to Myra. She blew perfect smoke o's, he knew she'd practiced. He wondered how long she had smoked.

"Inquis—Myra, are you happy?"

Myra sighed. "Ask me again in the morning."

"Myra, I…" The words caught in Cullen's throat. He saw Solas's silhouette move, his head tilted to face the tent's closed flaps. He shut his mouth quickly. Myra did not move.

"I want you to be happy," he finally said.

"Ma serraanas, falon," Myra said. "But I believe you are the only one who wants that."

* * *

The days and nights of travel began to run together in a sleepless blur for Myra. She knew this insomnia wasn't sustainable, but her fights with Solas made her reluctant to sleep in their shared tent.

Solas began joining her and Cullen by the fire. Myra and Cullen smoked together, but Solas always declined.

"Pass me the pipe," Cullen said.

Myra obliged. He toked for a few minutes. Myra watched the way he closed his eyes as he inhaled and relaxed into the exhale. She was glad to share this simple pleasure with someone. He passed it back to her.

"Darrell used to blow smoke rings," she said.

"The Grey Warden at Adamant," Solas supplied for Cullen.

"I blow them in his memory," Myra said.

Cullen nodded and watched her blow more.

"Do you hold onto any memories?" Myra asked.

"We can never let go of what is lost," Solas said.

"Cullen?" Myra asked.

"I try not to, but they still haunt me. Staying in the present helps," Cullen said. "Focusing on the now, and the future."

"Wise words," Myra said. Solas squeezed her hand. She looked to him.

"Da'len," Solas said. "Will…you walk with me?"

"Depends, will you lecture me?"

"That is not my intent."

Myra saw Cullen eye them warily. She placed a hand on his shoulder and handed him the pipe. "Peace, falon. I will return."

She stood and walked into the woods with Solas.

* * *

"He cares for you," Solas said.

"He is my friend," Myra said.

Silence fell between the two of them. The crickets chirped in the grasses, looking for mates. Winter was approaching.

"My birthday is soon," Myra said.

Solas looked to the sky, but the stars lay hidden behind the branches overhead.

"You are correct. Wintermarch approaches."

They walked in silence for a moment. He led her across a small stream that had frozen over.

"Wintermarch will mark not only a new year, but the anniversary of the Inquisition's birth."

"And the birth of its Inquisitor," Solas said. "How did you celebrate with your clan?"

"I always made an offering to Sylaise or Mythal. This year would be Mythal…I suppose desecrating her temple isn't much of an offering."

Solas sighed. "It did not deserve its fate."

"Part of me regrets, but part of me is grateful." She looked to Solas, her passion gleaming in her eyes. "I carry a part of her in me now. They're just whispers, but I can hear them, voices of a time long past." Myra saw Solas's troubled expression. Her gaze landed at her feet. "Ir abelas, I know you don't approve, but this could help us restore the past, restore what was. The Dalish won't have to chase after myths anymore. I have the power to change things!"

Solas tilted her head up and kissed her. It was a whole genuine kiss, not the half-hearted ones they'd exchanged the past week. Myra melted into it. He held her steady, pulling her closer to him.

"Ar lath ma," he said. "Dir'lath da'len."

"Hahren," Myra kissed him again. "Please."

"Please?"

"No more fighting, please."

Solas's gaze saddened. He caressed her face. "Da'len…"

"I know you want to help me, guide me on the right path, and that's fine. But please, be gentle, be kind." She embraced him. "I love you, but my heart is fragile. It cannot take your scrutiny time and time again."

"I only wish to help—"

"I know, but be gentle. Be kind. Help me remember you love me."

"Vhenan…"

Solas kissed her. The clouds parted overhead, blanketing them in the light of the full moon. He held her in the kiss for long moments.

When they parted, he caressed her face once more.

"Myra…" he began.

Myra looked at him attentively. His brow furrowed and he would not meet her gaze.

"What troubles you?" she asked.

"I…would not know where to begin."

"Solas, you can ask anything of me."

"It's…not something I would ask of you…It's something I would tell you…"

"What is it?"

But Solas hesitated. She could feel his hand trembling on her face, so she held it tightly with her own.

"You can tell me anything."

Solas glanced at her quickly. He kissed her. She knew he was hiding something.

"You are so beautiful, vhenan. Come, the winds are chill. We will be warmer by the fire."

Solas never told her what he was hiding, what he had hesitated to divulge. All she knew was that he loved her, and for now, that was enough.


	26. Chapter 26

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX**

* * *

Upon returning to Skyhold, Solas asked Myra to accompany him to "Var'an." Myra obliged and grabbed two horses from the stable. They rode for about half an hour before coming to the spring where they had first journeyed into the Fade together. As Solas helped Myra dismount from her horse, she thought to herself, _This is where he met my Despair._

It was also where she and Solas had come together, where he had held her as she wept. The place felt sacred, their love ordained by the stars in the skies. He held her hand, leading her to the spring.

"I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me," Solas said. "Do you feel the energies of the Fade tingling on your skin?" He caressed her face. "That's how I feel when I'm with you."

He dropped his hand. Myra touched her flushing cheeks.

"I'm listening," Myra said. "And I can offer a few suggestions."

"I shall bear that in mind," Solas said, smirking a bit. "For now, the best gift I can offer is…the truth." The twinkle in his eyes disappeared, his whole demeanor turned somber. He paused and directed her gaze towards him. "You are unique. In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade. You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined."

"As you are to me," Myra said, kissing him.

Solas broke away. "Then what I must tell you…the truth…" He paused. "…Your face, the vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean."

"They honor the elven gods," Myra said. "Mine honor Sylaise, the Goddess of the Home."

Solas shook his head. "No. They are slave markings, or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan."

"So this is…what? Just one more thing the Dalish got wrong?"

"I'm sorry," Solas said.

Myra breathed heavily. "We try to preserve our culture, and this is what we keep? Relics of a time when we were no better than Tevinter?"

"Don't say that," Solas said. "For all they got wrong, the Dalish did one thing right." He smiled. "They made you."

Myra started to turn away, but Solas pulled her back.

"I didn't tell you this to hurt you. If you like, I know a spell…I can remove the vallaslin."

"I'd like that," Myra said. "Cast your spell, take the vallaslin away."

"Sit." Solas knelt with her in the tall grasses. "Close your eyes."

Myra obliged. She felt the magic gathering around his fingertips, felt her face tingle as he cast his spell. When he finished, she opened her eyes to find his wise eyes staring into her spritely, bright ones.

"Ar lasa mala revas," Solas said. "You are free." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. He kissed her gently and held her close. "You are so beautiful."

But when they broke away, his brow furrowed, and his features became troubled. Myra looked at him, fear bubbling in her stomach.

"And…I am sorry," Solas said, backing away. "I distracted you from your duty." Solas shook his head. "It will never happen again."

He slipped from Myra's grasp and headed for the horses.

"Wait!" she grabbed his sleeve. "You bring me here, take the vallaslin from my face, and now you just end it?" Her gaze pleaded with him. "Please, hahren, don't leave me."

"I'm sorry," Solas said, not meeting her gaze. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Myra's face contorted as she fought back tears. She turned away from him, fighting to maintain a firm stance, to not let him see her break apart. "Well, we don't always get what we want, do we?"

He did not speak for a moment, but Myra did not hear his footsteps leaving the spring. He stayed behind her. Finally, he spoke. "I will see you back at Skyhold."

She heard his footsteps.

Myra felt her stomach drop.

Cold.

Everything felt cold as he walked away.

She fell to her knees.

He did not stop.

She heard the gallop of his horse.

…

The tears spilled over, tears she'd held back. She sunk to the ground as the weight of his departure crushed her. Her chest heaved as sobs wracked her fragile frame.

"Don't leave…please…why?" Myra looked to the sky for answer, but it was clouded over. A storm brewed. She knew it was from the north, just as it had been the day she learned of Trewyn's death. The same questions hung from her lips.

"Why?"

But there was no Keeper to answer her questions this time, and the one person she trusted to answer her had just left.

She was alone.

* * *

The Inquisitor hadn't left her room for a few days now.

And many were starting to worry. Josephine had suggested that perhaps they should send in servants to check on her and make sure she had food, but Leliana had steered her away. Something about "no fury like a woman scorned" and it'd be best to leave any food at the door.

Any servants delegated to this task had reported back to Josephine the most disturbing information.

"All we hear is shattering glass, Lady Ambassador," they said. "I can't imagine how much liquor she's gone through with all the smashing we've heard."

It was then Josephine, worried for the Inquisitor's health, ordered a daily inventory on the alcohol stores. However, day-in and day-out every bit of alcohol, down to the last bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip was accounted for. Cullen had stayed largely uninvolved in the discussions surrounding Myra's absence. Surprisingly enough, it was he who dared to venture to her quarters first. Perhaps he didn't know this "fury of a woman scorned" well enough to know to steer clear, or perhaps he was simply a fool, but he couldn't stand this nagging worry anymore.

He knocked on the door to her quarters.

…

…

…

No response.

Shifting uncomfortably, he knocked again. "Inquisitor?" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Ahem…Y-Your Worship?"

…

Still nothing.

Maybe if he had sharper wits or a harder heart, he would have left then, thinking that he'd at least tried and finally gotten a good night's rest. However, he didn't leave. He turned the door knob, and finding it unlocked, entered.

At first sight of the room, Cullen's eyes widened in horror. Glass shards strewn the entire room with paint splashed in large globs: on the floors, the walls, _Maker's breath_ , even the ceiling. _Most of all_ , the _blighted ceiling._ Whatever it once looked like he could not distinguish under the layers and layers of haphazardly thrown, multi-colored paints. The Commander was grateful he was wearing his armored boots so he could walk safely across the layers and layers of broken glass.

"Inquisitor?"

The bed sheets lay in a far corner of the room, along with a small pile of books and a music box. Her bed was stripped bare to the mattress and a pillow, only one, was ripped open, feathers around the bed.

It was shortly thereafter, in his rapidly escalating fear, that the Commander finally laid eyes on her.

"Shit. _Myra_ ," he rushed over to her and scooped her into his arms. Her hair was matted with a layer of paint and glass shards, her hands and arms covered in cuts. She didn't respond, deep in slumber. He held her tight and began to carry her out, pieces of broken paint bottles clinking to the floor as he rushed out.

"Hang on, Myra. I'm getting you help."

He felt fear bubble inside of him. _"Maker's breath,_ I'm getting you help."

* * *

"She'll need a couple stitches, but with some elfroot the rest of the smaller cuts should heal quickly enough," the healer said.

Cullen stood with his arms firmly crossed, holding the fear inside of him.

"We had to extract glass shards from some of the deeper wounds, but there are many that may be too small for us to get out," the healer said. "That part of the process may require some magic to mitigate any damage that might cause."

"So she'll be alright?" Cullen asked.

"She should make a full recovery."

"Thank the Maker." Cullen let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Besides the injuries, she seems to be malnourished and dehydrated, but that's nothing we can't handle."

"Thank you. Keep me updated on her recovery, alright? And…let me know when she's awake. I want to speak with her."

"Yes, Commander."

After seeing that Myra was cared for, his next matter of business became clear. He stormed into Solas's study, and slammed the door behind him.

The elf stood, staring at the wall. If Cullen's insides weren't boiling, he may have noticed how empty and melancholy the elf seemed. However, the Commander was seething. If there was no fury like a woman scorned, then there was no fury like the man who cared about the woman scorned.

"Commander?" Solas said. He didn't even look at him. The blighted bastard didn't even _look_ at him.

Cullen grabbed the elf by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall. " _What did you do?_ " he growled.

The elf seemed genuinely shocked at first. "I'm afraid I don't know—"

"Don't give me that bullshit. _What did you do to her_?"

The color drained from his face. "Myra? What happened to her? Is she alright?"

"Don't act like you care, bastard. If you cared she wouldn't have been starving herself in her room for the past three days. She wouldn't be in the _fucking infirmary_ with _glass_ in her _blighted arms!_ "

 _"Tell me what happened to her_." The Solas's voice bellowed, filling the room with such command that Cullen nearly obeyed from pure instinct alone. He shook the feeling off quickly, remembering Myra's red, puffy eyes and blood-caked arms, the glass layering the floor of her quarters. In a fit of rage, Cullen threw Solas across the room, into his desk. It toppled over. Books and papers scattered across the room. The apostate caught his footing and stood defensively.

"Tell me what happ—" he began to speak again but Cullen punched him with his plated glove. Solas fell to floor and lay still for a moment. Cullen clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling all the frustration pent up from his lyrium withdrawal powering his rage.

After a few moments, Solas picked himself up and he began to chuckle. "I never realized you cared so much for her, Commander."

" _Shut. Up._ " Cullen went in for another punch only to be blocked by the apostate's barrier. " _What did you do to her?_ " He punched again. The barrier still stood.

"I betrayed her trust." Solas said. His eyes filled with sadness. "I hurt her without intent, and she could not handle that hurt."

The Commander snarled, but he began to understand. "Fix it. You. In the infirmary. Now."

"I am not your soldier," Solas said. "But I will go. I know the meaning of the word, 'honor,' Commander. I will repair what damage I can."

Solas left, leaving the Commander to stand in the center of the room. As his inner fire died down, his gaze drifted across the room, taking in the overturned desk, the scattered papers, and the droplets of blood staining the floor.

Cullen took a deep breath and heaved a sigh.

"Shit."

* * *

The next few days seemed to pass in a sleepless blur. Cullen went through the motions of monitoring training, determining troop movements and patrol paths, writing reports of completed missions for the Inquisitor to read once she recovered. Yet, his nerves clawed him from the inside out. The lyrium withdrawal didn't help either. The frustration would bubble so strongly within him that not even the most strenuous training regimes could whip it back down.

Finally, the day came when his worries calmed.

"Commander."

Cullen looked up from his desk to find one of the infirmary staff standing in his doorway. He stood up immediately. "Is she awake?"

"She is, Commander. She says she'll see you."

It took a great deal of discipline not to run to the infirmary. Cullen worked his way through the various peoples of Skyhold, heading down from the battlements until he finally reached the Courtyard. He saw Cassandra slicing into a training dummy only for her gaze to meet his. She knew where he was heading and her smile and nod informed him of her appreciation. With how close she and the Inquisitor were, he could only imagine Cassandra would be one of the first to see Myra after him.

When he entered the infirmary, he was greeted by the sharp smell of blood and elfroot. As his eyes adjusted from the bright sun to the dim lighting, his blood began to boil. Solas stood beside the Inquisitor, a hand hovering over her arm and glowing green. They talked in low voices. Myra gave him scathing looks as he healed the wounds that _he had caused, damn it_. Cullen tried to reel himself back in. _Easy now,_ he told himself, _let's make this visit pleasant_.

He made his approach known by walking a little heavier than normal, his armor clanking loudly. Solas looked up from his work and held his gaze.

"Commander," he said.

"Solas," Cullen replied. Neither wavered in their gaze. Cullen looked at the bruises he'd inflicted on the apostate's face with a haughty pride. He knew he'd done wrong in physically confronting the elf, but Maker's breath it had felt so good.

After a moment that seemed drag on forever, Solas looked away. "It appears I am being relieved of my duties." Solas turned to Myra. "Dareth shiral, lethallan."

Myra crossed her arms and snarled at him as he walked away. Petty, immature. Cullen almost laughed. It was so unlike her. As Solas left, Cullen moved past him and sat on the edge of Myra's bed. Her shoulders relaxed once the elf left the infirmary, but she looked down embarrassedly once Cullen sat.

Cullen almost began to reach for her hand, but he stopped himself. No, that wasn't quite right. Maybe he should pat her leg? No, no, he didn't want to give the wrong impression. Maybe just holding her shoulder, or a hug? For goodness sake, how hard was it to convey he cared without letting on exactly how much?

She rubbed her forehead as though it ached. "All of this has been so inappropriate."

Cullen's heart caught in his throat. He opened his mouth to apologize for his behavior only to be interrupted as she continued to think aloud.

"I shouldn't have responded like a child. Throwing paint bottles like temper tantrums…" Her brow furrowed. "I quite liked that fresco he painted for me…It made Skyhold feel less alien." She heaved a sigh. "But I couldn't stare at it the night after he…ended it. It didn't bring its familiar comfort, it tormented me." She twisted her betrothal ring around her finger, and in her eyes, Cullen could see the most profound sadness. "So…I spiraled into madness. Him leaving felt all too familiar. Everyone has a breaking point, I suppose."

"Myra…" Cullen said. He tried to meet her gaze, but she refused to look him in the eyes. "I can't say I understand why all this happened, but I want you to know, you have nothing to be ashamed of." He looked down. "I only wish I had come sooner."

Myra shook her head. "You couldn't have known. I shouldn't have acted in a way that required you to rescue me. I should have been strong enough to forego the spiral altogether."

"No, none of that." Cullen reached over and caressed her face, guiding her gaze towards him. He felt his heart skip a beat, meeting the gaze of those bright eyes. They sparked when staring into his. He saw it. For a moment, he wondered if maybe she returned his feelings all along. If maybe, they could be…

Cullen's mind blanked, and he flushed, jerking his hand back to his person and staring down at his feet. _Maker's breath, why must she be so beautiful?_ He couldn't think straight around her.

His mind only reeled faster when she reached out to him, caressing his cheek as he had hers. She guided his gaze, just as he had. His heart pounded in his chest so hard he wondered briefly if it might explode.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

"I—I can't, I—people might—" His face burned.

"Please?" she said.

She didn't really pull him to her so much as her eyes beckoned him and he responded. He leaned towards her, closer, and closer. So close he could smell her. Maker, she smelled like the forests after it rained. His heart leapt in sweet anticipation, overjoyed that the moment he'd been dreaming of was finally happening.

He stopped mere inches from her lips, his conscience calling out to him. Was this right? It had barely been a week since these same lips were kissing that apostate's, and now she wanted him? How could anyone possibly move on that quickly?

But _Maker_ , when she opened her eyes, all he could see was the forest and all he could breathe was the storms of Ferelden. He tasted her sorrow without having to taste her, and he wanted nothing more than to dress her wounds and kiss her demons away.

She seemed to dislike his hesitancy because finally she closed the space between their lips and kissed him deeply. Their lips moved in a perfect harmony, as though practiced for years.

And in that moment, even if only for a moment, Cullen felt the cravings inside of him cease and the torrents inside himself still. His heart shone as bright as the sun.

Yes, this was it.

 _Peace_.


	27. Chapter 27

**CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN**

* * *

The servants and soldiers had already begun whispering of the budding romance between the Inquisitor and the Commander. Some who had a better instinct for these sorts of things had suspected it since the two's friendship and figured it only a matter of time before they took things a step further. Indeed, the topic even made its way into hushed whispers between the higher-ups. Leliana, with her spy network that kept her updated on every happenstance in Thedas, and with her finely-tuned intuition for such things, knew it had only been a matter of "when" and not "if." Cassandra, close to both Myra and Cullen, had seen the eyes they'd given each other, and suspected they pined after each other. Vivienne, master of the Orlesian Court, and having been in love herself, had picked up on all the signs.

"The air practically dripped with affection when the two looked at one another. Only that elven apostate stood between them, and with him leaving the picture so willingly, what could one expect? I'm hardly surprised, darling," Vivienne spoke in hushed tones to Josephine over morning tea.

"I had my suspicions," Josephine confided. "But she was so enamored with Solas. They made such an endearing couple, I didn't want to believe something could cause their separation."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing, darling, that apostate doesn't realize the prized jewel he let slip through his fingers," Vivienne said.

However, many in Skyhold could hardly suppress their shock.

"Didja hear?" Sera said at a game of Wicked Grace. "No more Inquisitor and elfie, it's Inquisitor and Culley-wulley now."

"Half of Thedas knows," Dorian drawled, upping a couple coppers. "Can't say I didn't see it coming. Something always seemed off about her and Solas. I'm happy if she's happy."

"That Commander needs to grow some balls," Iron Ball said. "Heard she made the move on him. Good for her."

"Well, I'm not surprised at all. They always supported one another." Cassandra squinted at her cards before scoffing and throwing in her hand. She pushed her lost silvers in. "I don't know why I bother playing this game. Regardless, I consider each a close friend and I think they will be good for one another. I have no objections."

Blackwall pulled up a chair and sat at the table with the rest of them. "You might want to keep your voices down. I could hear you lot clear from the battlements."

"What do you think of all this, Hero?" Varric said. "If I'm not wrong, you and the Inquisitor had a bit of a thing—"

"We did, but it ended as quickly as it began. On good terms, at least," Blackwall said. "I try not to make others' business my business." He took a gulp from his tankard. "Though, for what it's worth, I didn't see it coming either."

"I was surprised too," Varric said. He put in another silver. "She and Solas…those two seemed inseparable. I've heard some things since they broke it off, nothing pleasant. Myra's furious with him."

Dorian gave a wry laugh. "Maybe he said something particularly prick-ish."

Sera wrinkled her nose. "Well, if you ask me, it's about damn time she ended things with elfie. I'd say he's only good for a wank, but I don't wanna think about that with…" She shuddered. "… _That_." She threw in her cards and pushed in her coin. "I'm out."

"Me too," Dorian said. "Need a stronger drink."

Iron Bull looked to Varric, but he shook his head. "Can't win against a Qunari. I'm out."

Blackwall had already left after Sera had stood, leaving Bull with all his coin. Bull laughed and raked in the silver.

"Chargers, ya done good! Another keg for ya!"

* * *

"Dorian!" Myra's face immediately brightened upon seeing her best friend. She opened her arms and he reciprocated, giving her a nice, tight hug.

"You had all of Skyhold worried sick. The Great Inquisitor in the infirmary?" Dorian sat on her bedside and patted her leg. "If you wanted everyone's attention, you've succeeded."

"As if it wasn't all on me already," she quipped, shifting in bed and wincing a little.

"Wincing is never a good sign. What _are_ these imbeciles giving you anyways?" He jumped up from her bed and sauntered to the surgeon's desk, where he flipped through the various medical notes in a rather grandiose manner. "Oh no no _no_ , this will _simply_ not do. _One_ poultice every 6 hours? What do they think, you're some common soldier? You're the _Inquisitor_ , Maker's breath." Dorian tossed the notes over his shoulder. They scattered around the infirmary floor as he walked back to Myra and grabbed her stitches. His hands grew cool and glowed a faint blue as they numbed the pain.

"I'd have done it myself," Myra said. "But…well…"

"Not a word more, my friend." He flashed her a genuine smile, not one of his usual cocky smirks. It almost surprised her.

"You're too good to me."

"Nothing is too good for you, my dear. You are the _epitome_ of goodness, goodness embodied in the flesh!"

"Flatterer." She rolled her eyes.

"All that being said, you're not quite as great as _me_ …"

"There's the Dorian, I know and love!" She bopped his nose and he flashed her a smirk.

"So, word goes 'round…"

"Oh no…"

"You and Solas are no more. Good, never liked the prick."

"He never cared much for you either, so at least it's mutual." Myra groaned. "Oh, he'd get in the sourest mood whenever I mentioned spending time with you. 'I don't know what you see in that Tevinter,' he said to me once. I begged him to give you a chance. Nope, wouldn't have it."

"Well, good. Because I hear you're with Cullen now. Now _that's_ something I can get behind, _and_ _get behind_ , if you catch my meaning." Dorian winked and Myra laughed.

"He is quite pleasant to look at from that angle."

"Ah, so you've been admiring for a while then?"

"Of course, it's hard not to. I…but…"

"Prick McPrickster got in the way?"

"Prick McPrickster. I like that name for him. I should address him like that from now on."

"I see you also…" Dorian motioned to his whole face.

Myra blinked in confusion before it clicked. "Oh, the vallaslin," she touched where her marks once were. "Right…um…" Myra bit her lip. "Long story…"

"One having to do with Prick McPrickster, just a wild guess."

"A not so wild guess…" Myra rubbed her face and sighed. "I kind of wish I had them back now…"

"Inquisitor?"

Myra looked passed Dorian to see a member of the infirmary staff.

"Your daughter's here to see you."

Myra heaved a sigh. She had hoped word of her hospitalization wouldn't reach Fennec, but that child's ability to eavesdrop put Leliana's agents to shame.

Dorian gave her a look, then patted her knee before leaving.

"Yes, let her in," Myra said.

Fennec entered the infirmary. In her hand, she held one of her favorite dolls. Myra recognized it as the one she'd brought with her from Redcliffe. Now, it was Fennec giving the doll to Myra.

"I brought you this." Fennec handed the doll to her. It was still stained with ash and soot. Its black button eyes stared up at Myra and gazed deep within. It could see her weakness.

Myra placed the doll on her lap and scooted over some. Fennec climbed into bed with her.

"Cullen says you can help me with my reading homework." She pulled out a book from the satchel.

"How is Cullen?" Myra asked. The kiss hadn't left her mind, however impulsive it might have been.

Fennec opened to the appropriate page. "He's worried."

"About me?"

Fennec nodded.

"He shouldn't, I'm fine."

"He told me you'd say that." Fennec began reading aloud. Myra helped her with any words she struggled with. They were teaching her about the tales of Andraste.

They read through a few tales together to pass the time, but eventually, Fennec tired of the reading, so Myra took over, continuing the tales in her own practiced fashion.

Fennec began to nod off as the sky grew dark, and all the story-telling made Myra weary.

Eventually, she too slipped into slumber.

* * *

She knew the demon was waiting for her. There was never a night it didn't watch her from the shadows. Predator and prey. The air chilled her immediately.

Despair took the form of Solas now. It had since he'd left her. It always assumed the form that would bring her the most pain.

"I see you've found another," Solas said.

"Only after he left," Myra said.

"Everyone leaves you."

Myra's eyes welled. "Why wasn't I enough?"

"You will never be enough." Solas caressed her cheek. Ice. "Your Keeper taught you this."

Myra shirked his touch and turned away, hiding her tears from the glutton. "Everyone leaves."

"You know. Now remember."

Suddenly, she awoke, Cullen shaking her. Fennec slept soundly beside her.

Myra sat up, quickly wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm here," Cullen said. He sat at her bedside. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Myra bit back the tears and nodded. She attempted to quiet her sobs. The hour was late and she did not wish to wake the other patients.

Cullen wiped away the stray tears that lined her cheeks. She could barely make him out in the darkness, but she knew it was him: she could feel his warmth.

"Are you alright?" he asked after she had calmed.

"Yes. Just…nightmares."

Cullen caressed her face, rubbing his thumb along her cheek. "I came for Fennec, but now I'm worried."

Myra shrugged. "What's another sleepless night?"

Cullen scooped Fennec into his arms. The child whimpered at being moved, but clung to him and quickly settled.

"I'll be back. I'm going to put this one to bed."

Myra waited in the darkness for him to reappear. When he did, as promised, she didn't feel so alone.


	28. Chapter 28

**CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT**

* * *

The healer told Myra she could leave today, so by the Dread Wolf, she was getting out of the infirmary. Cassandra helped her get off her bed and gather her things. She had heard about Myra's release from Fennec and insisted on helping her return to work.

"Really, Inquisitor, you should let me help," Cassandra said, taking a stack of books from her.

"I'm not a fragile doll, Cass," Myra said. "The least you can do is not treat me like one."

"I found your belt," Fennec said, handing it to Myra.

"Thank you, darling," Myra said. She gathered more things: Fennec's doll, her armor, her staff… "Cass, I've been stuck in a cot for the past week. I need to do _something—_ "

Cassandra slapped a hand to her mouth, staring over Myra's shoulder. Confused, Myra followed her gaze, turning around only to find Commander Cullen hiding his face behind a bouquet.

"Erm, I guess you won't need these for your bedside…" he murmured.

"Nonsense!" Cassandra called. She grabbed the bouquet from Cullen's hands and shoved them into Myra's grasp. "I will leave the two of you alone. Inquisitor, do you want these in your quarters?"

"You don't have to—"

"Thank you, Cassandra," Cullen said. He took the doll from Myra's grasp and gave it to Fennec. "Why don't you put this away?" he said.

"Okay, are you gonna kiss?" Fennec asked.

Cullen stuttered a laugh. "Yes, I mean—"

"Only if the Commander wants to," Myra said.

"You're gonna kiss," Fennec said, running out the door with her doll.

Myra and Cullen flushed a bit, then followed her to the battlements. Fennec chased the birds while Cullen led Myra to their usual spot on the battlements.

"You know," Cullen began. "I had prepared everything I had wanted to tell you, and quite honestly, I can't remember a damn word of it."

"Take your time," Myra said, still admiring the bouquet. "And don't worry if it doesn't come out quite right."

"I appreciate it." Cullen took a deep breath. "The kiss…"

Myra stammered. "I'm sorry, I—"

"…was nice."

"…oh."

"What did you think I was going to say?" Cullen asked.

"That it was a mistake," Myra murmured.

"Why would I ever say such a thing? It was…wonderful. Everything I could have hoped for." Cullen cleared his throat.

"So you _have_ had feelings for me," Myra smirked.

"Of course I have. Do you have any idea who you are?" Cullen scooted closer to her. "Beautiful, kind, playful, modest…and those eyes…" Cullen turned her head towards him and stared deeply. "I love looking into them."

Myra giggled, then took a sharp breath.

"Are you alright?"

"Stitches."

Myra saw Cullen's figure tense.

"I'm still angry he did this to you," Cullen said.

Myra shook her head. "I did this to myself."

A scout approached them.

"I appreciate the sentiment though," Myra said.

The scout reached them and saluted. "Inquisitor, welcome back."

"It's good to be back."

The scout turned to the Commander. "Ser, Officer Rensworth wishes to speak to you."

"Dismissed."

The scout left.

Cullen sighed. "Duty never ends."

Myra rolled her eyes. "No, I'm sure I have a stack of reports waiting on my desk." She pushed off the wall of the battlements to navigate back to her quarters, but Cullen held her fast.

"We told Fennec we'd kiss," he said, smirking.

Myra grinned and let him reel her in. She pressed herself into his chest, gripping the fur lining of his jacket as she kissed him. When she broke away, Cullen was flushing bright red.

"That doesn't feel like a lead tongue," Myra said, winking. She tried to squirm away but he pulled her back to him and held her tight in his grasp. He kissed her deeply, delving his tongue between her lips. Myra moaned into the kiss, the bouquet slipping from her hands.

Cullen broke away, catching the bouquet and placing it back in her hands. "Try not to overwork yourself. It's only your first day back."

Myra smirked. "Duty never ends."

He smirked and pulled her in once more.

* * *

When Myra reached her bedroom, the first thing she noticed was a note from Josephine on the door.

 _Get well soon, Inquisitor._

 _Remember your allies._

 _With love,_

 _Josephine_

Smiling, she opened the door, only for her jaw to drop.

Scattered about the room lay enough bouquets to fill the room's perimeter and cover her bed. Scanning the tags, Myra found notes from Inquisition members and allies, all wishing her health, strength, and happiness. She also found a note from Leliana.

 _I am holding your reports._

 _Please see me._

 _-Leliana_

Sighing, she put down the note. She drew a bath and laid out some fresh clothes. After dressing herself, she headed to Skyhold's aviary.

"Inquisitor," Leliana beckoned her forward. "It is a relief to see you."

"It's a relief to be out of bed." Myra said. "I saw your note. May I have my reports?"

"Of course." She grabbed a stack of them and handed them to her. "There's a number of them, but we tried to be brief."

"Any updates?"

"It's all in the reports. How are you feeling?"

"A little worse for wear, if I'm to be honest."

Leliana frowned. "May I ask what happened?"

"You don't know?" Myra asked.

"I've heard things."

"What have you heard?"

Leliana sighed. She poured herself a glass of wine. "You and Solas left together to a location outside of Skyhold, then returned separately. Both of you looked distressed. That night, you slept in separate beds. Judging by what ensued, I assumed you'd broken up."

"You would be correct."

Leliana stopped pouring her glass and set the wine bottle on the table.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Leliana said. "I know you two were close."

"Thank you, Leliana," Myra said.

Leliana reached out and touched her arm. "Do you need anything?"

"I don't know. It hit a soft spot."

"Let me know," Leliana said.

"Thank you."

Myra took the reports to the tavern. The bar quieted a little when she walked in, then filled with whispers as she began working on her reports. Iron Bull slammed his tankard on her table.

"Hi, boss," he said, taking a seat. Krem grabbed a seat as well. "What Solas did makes my blood boil. I'm glad Cullen beat the shit outta him."

"Yeah," Myra said, rifling through her reports.

"What are those?" Bull asked.

"Reports," Myra said.

Bull shrugged. "Good luck." He went back to his usual spot, keeping an eye on her.

"I'm not really good with the whole feelings thing," Krem said. He awkwardly patted her hand and left.

Myra had gotten through two reports when Sera came.

"C'mon, Inquisitor, you've been stuck in bed for a week. Let's throw some pies at people or something."

Myra did not look up at her. "I can't right now, Sera, I'm busy."

"You can be busy _later_. C'mon."

"No, Sera," Myra snapped. "Can't you see I'm working?"

Sera frowned. "Fine then. Piss off." She headed upstairs.

"Can I buy you a pint?" Varric asked as he took a seat.

"Yes please," Myra said.

Varric didn't talk much to her, letting her work. Myra appreciated that.

Blackwall came to check in with her next. Varric bought him a pint too. They helped Myra wrap her head around some of the reports. Neither of them pried.

After she had made some headway, Dorian came in and bought them all some Antivan Sip-Sip to share.

"Madame Vivienne sends her best wishes, by the way," Dorian said, pouring her a shot, "and she wants tea later."

"Of course she does," Myra groaned. "If she wants me to talk, she should just spike my tea."

Blackwall left, leaving her with Varric and Dorian. They convinced her to take a break for a game of Wicked Grace. Varric won the bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip, but gave it back to Dorian.

About half-way through the bottle, Varric left. Dorian kept her company for a time, but eventually, he left too.

It was then Myra sensed a presence behind her.

"Don't," she said.

Myra could feel the hand at the back of her head before it touched her. After a few moments, Cole appeared and sat across from her.

"But it hurts," Cole said, "and I want to make it better." He fumbled nervously with his fingers, as if itching to heal her broken heart. "I want to help, and forgetting will help."

"No, Cole," she said. "I need it to hurt, I need to remember."

"Shards of broken paint bottles, splinters of a wooden pipe, razor sharp arrows, all cutting your heart. With each beat, it bleeds a little more. Let me help."

"You are helping."

Cole paused his finger-fumbling for a moment to tilt his head, like a puppy. "You want me to talk because you feel alone, but there are people all around. I don't understand."

"Do you hear them whisper, Cole? They don't think of me as a person. Even our friends are guilty of that." Myra pleaded with her eyes. "I need you to see me as I am."

Cole shook his head. "But you don't let people see."

Myra sat back and groaned.

"You huff because you know it's true. You always had to be the strong one, the person everyone looked up to. You couldn't be weak, and now that you showed your weakness, you're scared of what people think, so now when you put on your armor you tie it to you tighter than usual." Cole said nothing for a while and Myra did not reply.

Finally, after what felt like eons of silence, he spoke again. "He didn't want to hurt you."

Myra's expression soured. "Who's side are you on anyways?"

"He wanted to tell you, but he loved you too much. Dirtha'lath, lasa revas. _(If you know love, give it freedom.)_ "

"Dirtha'lath, ghilas virlathan. _(If you know love, follow the path of the heart.)_ Lasa vhenan. ( _Give your heart.)_ "

"What you had is not diminished by its end. You are not just the lost orphan you once were, clutching at the Keeper's robes to hold onto something, anything. You are orphan, First, Inquisitor, confidant, friend, and vhenan." Cole's eyes welled up. "You don't believe me. Why don't you believe me?"

"Because if I were all of those things, he…"

"He is not you. You are you. They see you as a beacon and I see you as a friend." Cole was suddenly behind her, hugging her from behind. "You are you and that is good to be, and so many people are happy you are here. Please don't be sad."

"I'll try not to be."

* * *

"I thought I told you not to overwork yourself."

Myra shot up from her reports. Judging by her mind's haze and the darkness of the hour, she could only assume she'd fallen asleep.

Myra smirked at him as he sat down. "I was never good at following orders."

Cullen scoffed.

He ordered a pint of ale. "Cassandra's looking for you."

"Everyone is."

"They care about you."

"If their care could translate to progress through all these reports…"

Cullen chuckles. "Fair enough."

Myra sighed and began flipping through the papers once more. She started piling them in her finished stack.

"Seem you've made some headway," Cullen said.

"That's what happens when you spend the entire day working."

The waitress came with his ale. He took a gulp.

"Your endurance is phenomenal," he said.

"Yes, I've been told I possess 'indomitable focus.'" Myra frowned.

"What's wrong?"

"Sorry, something _he_ once said."

Cullen rolled his eyes. "Sounds like him."

"…So, you're the reason behind the bruises?"

"Who told—?"

"Iron Bull. Answer my question."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. "Ah, yes…"

Myra smirked a bit. "Thank you."

Cullen flushed a bit. "You're, erm, welcome."

As the night carried on, Varric rallied everyone together for a game of Wicked Grace. And as Myra laughed along with them over the rest of that bottle of Antivan Sip-Sip, she pondered Cole's words.

Maybe people did genuinely care about her, and maybe they could help her through her hardship after all.


End file.
